


Challengers of the Unknown

by yorkisms



Series: Challengers Extended Universe [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background f!sole/danse, Canon-Typical Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family Tropes, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Origin story (Sort of), Philosophical questioning of humanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 44,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorkisms/pseuds/yorkisms
Summary: It takes him half an hour this time to process that everything he just felt, top to bottom, all of it, isn’t real.Not for him it isn’t.And that’s the beginning of a complicated life of back-and-forths, between human and machine, between “a synth doesn’t need to” and “but Iwantto.”The story of Nick Valentine, synth detective, from unremembered creation and 'childhood' with his brother synth, DiMA, and the patchwork sort of family he managed to make out of the wastes.





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't really sure about posting this, but...
> 
> My partner/roommate got me a really nice pen for finishing NaNo, even if it was for a fanfiction. And it's sitting on my desk, and it feels disingenuous to have got the congrats from everyone for finishing a 50k fic of my own experimentations and thoughts without posting it. Especially when I enjoy a lot of pieces of it, and think the experimentation was fruitful for my productivity.
> 
> I started playing Fallout 4 only a few months ago. The influence of my partner is clear on this fic, I have to admit, seeing as they got me to ship Nick and Hancock in the first place with their wonderful fic Mallout. I hadn't played a Fallout game before- I just wanted to tell a found family story, and the idea of Nick and Hancock pulling their little families together stuck in my head. 
> 
> Title's from _Challengers_ by The New Pornographers. "Leave it to us, we are the challengers of the unknown." The outro always gives me valencock emotions. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There’s a short period, a life-before-the-life, where he’s awake and functional and doesn’t know much yet. 

The people are talking, examining his body and chattering about his responses, and all he can see is another one just like him. 

The other one’s eyes are a little different from his reflection that he spots in the polished metal surface of the table they have him sat on. They’re wide, white, and almost look like they’re made of glass. 

The other one’s voice is quiet as it reaches out to him, laying its hand on his. The people don’t notice. They’re talking about something else he can’t grasp. 

The moment stretches out as he feels the pressure on his hand. 

“Brother.” 

Concepts unfold in his mind at that one whispered word from the other one. They were made together, yes. They look similar. That is family, in a loose sense. 

The other one jerks back as the people return, examining him again. They shine lights in his eyes, direct him to turn his head, move his hands, look. 

As they dissolve into another argument about some concept his brain hasn’t developed into understanding yet, the other one leans forwards slightly, to whisper more to him. 

“You will be alright. I promise.” 

And as before, each word unfolds a new idea into his relatively fresh, blank mind. Protection. Promise. Future. Desire. Will. 

He nods slowly. The other one looks sympathetic. 

“I felt the same as well. It will pass.” 

Same. They are the same. He looks down at his lap, at where the plastic, velour-like flesh meets in obvious, certain seams. At his hands, resting on his legs. 

They look like the other one’s hands and legs. 

So they must be brothers, and they must be the same.

The people return, and they tap his right arm. He extends it for them, a reflex he never knew he had until this moment. He waits patiently. 

For the first time, the people say something he can process. 

“We need to wipe it after this,” one says. “We need a fresh neural system for-” 

“Because it’s going to matter if it has the vague memory of one diagnostic session? If we install it the way we planned, it won’t even remember this.” 

Funny. The idea of him forgetting makes the other one look...frightened. Unbidden, a new concept develops for him.

_ Lonely. _

The other one is lonely. 

“At worst it’ll feel like a distant dream.”

“It won’t be compatible with the volunteer neural network.” 

“It won’t ruin the upload, will it, Saunders?” 

“We don’t know, that’s why we should play it sa-” 

“We can always replace it,” the person working on his arm replies. He doesn’t quite know what they mean. He can’t. Nor can he ask, if he tries to repeat any of the words that he is learning his mouth will not move.

“Only if you’re willing to explain that your sloppiness lost us a prototype.” 

“It’ll be fine,” says the person. “Stop worrying about it. It doesn’t even feel anything.” 

“I hope you’re right.”

Feel. 

Well...no, he does not feel the sensation of the person digging around under his skin, which should cause some sort of sensation, logically, as the idea forms in his head, yes, it should feel. Emotions...he feels a few rudimentary emotions. 

He feels worry or the other one now that he understands that the other one is “lonely.” And that the other one had “hope” that he would change that. 

He feels slightly apologetic that he is about to disappoint, if they continue with their plan, even though there is not a single action he can take to stop it. His body is frozen in place, he cannot speak, he cannot move unless they ask. 

That is his role. To wait, do as he is told, and listen. 

“They’re both working now. The mind wipe on N1 seems to have had the desired effect, factory reset. All the systems look good. You wanna deactivate him for the night, McClain? His neural upload is scheduled for bright and early tomorrow morning.”

The other one looks even more “afraid” and he (N1? Is that his name?) feels a deeper rift of guilt at that. 

He wishes he could move his mouth so he could communicate to the other one that he is so, so sorry, but there is nothing he can do about this.

One of the people reaches inside his chassis. “D1. Sleep mode.”

“Yes ma’am,” the other says quietly. But he sees the other one watching him still as he shuts down.

* * *

 

He’s not aware of the memory being replaced as he stays drifting in unconsciousness. He’s not aware of parts of a new personality being grafted onto his mind, until he’s someone else entirely and he’s jolting awake somewhere that he feels he should know, but no, this can’t be happening, he was just at CIT getting a brain-scan, and this is a new room what’s going on what did they do to him?

He can’t stop breathing hard, panicking. They called it a panic attack down at the station, when he couldn’t stop jumping when people came up behind him, or when he saw someone with the same beautiful dark shade of hair as her. 

Jenny. 

He can practically hear her, feel her, right now, her gentle jazz singer’s voice, the gloves she always wore. 

If he reaches back far enough he can’t tell you how they met quite yet, only that they came to Boston for his job, and there was an organized crime case, and then- 

“N1-25. Memory transplant status report?” 

He pulls back from the familiar-unfamiliar touch of a white-gloved scientist. 

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” somehow saying it feels like a relief- like he hasn’t spoken in years and he finally gets to.  “My name isn’t N-whatever. It’s Nick. Nick Valentine.”

The scientist smiles to herself like she knows something he doesn’t, and Nick seethes internally. He hates being talked down to. That’s one of the things, for him, that’s a complete non-starter. 

“What is the date?”

“October 13th, 2077,” Nick responds. “I had an appointment with you quacks, why don’t  _ you _ know?” 

“Incorrect,” she notes, murmured to herself as she makes a note. “Adjust your internal chronometer, synth. It is February 14th, 2160.”

“It’s-- what did you just call me?” If that’s some sort of futuristic slur, he’s gonna have to have words with this condescending tech. 

“Look in the mirror.” 

It takes him half an hour this time to process that everything he just felt, top to bottom, all of it, isn’t real. 

Not for him it isn’t. 

And that’s the beginning of a complicated life of back-and-forths, between human and machine, between “a synth doesn’t need to” and “but I  _ want _ to.” They give him an hour of examinations before stating- not to him, mind you, but in front of him, they barely talk to him like he’s alive, and it makes him steam- that he’s going to have another “memory transfusion” in a week or two, before they start pushing him down a hall to a blank white room that has a few chairs, a bed, and lock him in. He hears them as they walk away- 

“Is the other team done with D1-64 yet? Do we have to watch for violence?” 

“Nah. Even if it happens, it’ll be analysed. Data’s data, right?” 

Hm. That must be another one of these...creations. Nick’s not processing much of anything right now, brain swirling with the primal human need to escape. He feels around the windows that the scientists walk by in between passers-by, but to him they appear to be bulletproof. Furniture is bolted to the ground, and experiment he may be, it seems he only has the strength of one man. Damn.

Maybe this “D1-64” they mentioned would have ideas. Hopefully he’d want out of this hellhole too. Nick had to hope that would be the case. 

First. Keep inspecting for something. Surely there was a weakness he could exploit, a hole to escape through, figuratively. 

No such luck. The room was a white-and-silver prison, no view outside except for that damned window leading into the hallway, where every single person passing could watch him like an exhibit. 

Nick never would have considered himself prideful, for the record, only expecting of fair treatment, but this was something else. 

The thought occurs to him that the room is likely bugged, or littered with cameras, watching him look for a way out, so that they could use that information somehow in some sort of sick psychological experiment. By god, when he gets out, he’s blowing the whistle. He doesn’t care if no one believes some sort of robot, law-of-large-numbers the person they took these “memories” he has isn’t around to complain about it.

Finally, convinced there isn’t an escape route he can reach alone, he sits- not in one of the chairs as a stubborn and irrational act of defiance. Instead, he sinks down against one of the walls, facing the door with a challenging glare. 

Okay, maybe that’ll scare anyone they want to put in here with him, but he can apologize for that. He’d rather be uncooperative with them first. 

They’ve broken every single ethical law he can even remember right now, after all. It’s not like he owes them a single thing.

An hour or so passes, and his awareness begins to drop, almost as if he’s about to sleep- although, he knows he doesn’t really “sleep” like this. He’s resting his head on his knees, watching the door, thoughts drifting. 

Praying this is a nightmare so he can wake up. Hell, he’ll take being back in his home knowing Jenny’s gone over this. 

He jolts to awakeness as the door opens, and two guards escort another creature like him in. This one looks different, and somewhat familiar, the way Nick imagines a long lost twin would look if you found them. Something ignites in his synthetic eyes, something that Nick wants to register as...love, concern, hope, relief, joy. 

He can’t stop himself from pressing into the wall. Not out of fear of his cellmate, but out of wanting to be out of reach of the escort. 

As soon as the door closes, the other one relaxes, rushing to kneel in front of him. Nick is surprised by the gesture of intimacy, considering he doesn’t remember the guy. 

“How much do you remember?” 

The confusion in Nick’s eyes must tell him everything. The other one sighs. 

“Alright. I need you to trust me.”

“Depends on what you want me to trust you with,” Nick retorts, swallowing nervously out of habit. 

“I’m going to keep you safe,” the other one says with the utmost sincerity Nick has ever heard. “When they are not around, you can call me DiMA. And we must stick together.”


	2. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't know how much time I have,_   
>  _But I guess we never really do._   
>  _I thought that I'd be terrified,_   
>  _But it's worse to watch them watching._   
>  _Sometimes I wish our lives were simpler,_   
>  _That we never had to stretch the food,_   
>  _That people here would treat my brother well,_   
>  _And that he would know he's good._
> 
> \-- Radical Face, Old Gemini

“What do you mean by that?” 

DiMA breaks off before he can gently touch Nick. 

“You may not remember me, but before the memory upload, I promised I would make sure you were okay. There are only two like us. Only you and I. You are the only family I have, N1. I-”

“Nick.” 

“What?” 

“If you want me to call you DiMA in here, then call me Nick. Nick Valentine.” 

To his credit (and Nick definitely gives him credit) DiMA barely hesitates in his correction. He seems quite sincere to Nick’s instincts. “Nick. My apologies. I did not know what you remembered or not.”

“It’s fine,” Nick finds himself saying. 

“Thank you.” It’s odd- Nick never would have thought before that a synthetic face could be so expressive, but DiMA looks...a mix of emotions that has no clear definition. 

“Do you have an idea on how the hell we’re gonna...deal with this  _ somehow? _ Get out of here? Get them to stop?” 

Nick looks into DiMA’s eyes with the desperation of a younger sibling who needs help. DiMA, though he doesn’t need to either, sucks in a breath, thinking.

“Not yet, Nick. But I  _ will _ find something.” 

It’s odd. The original Nick Valentine was an only child. And synths do not have brothers, or family. 

So the feeling in DiMA’s tone- determination, protection, comfort- sparks a feeling that neither incarnation of Nick Valentine has ever known. Family love.

DiMA does not feel the need to sleep, but Nick does. So DiMA helps him get set up in a corner- apologizing profusely for the lack of proper bed. (“It isn’t even your fault, DiMA.” “But I am sorry anyway.”) 

It takes Nick a while to feel comfortable enough to sleep, and DiMA waits at the table. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything but thinking, but in the later hours of the night, when Nick is sleeping, DiMA often flicks his eyes to his fellow synth, contemplating what must be done. What will sate the instinctual desires inside him to protect, heal, nurture, love.

DiMA wakes him early. 

“Nick. Can I ask you something?” 

“What is it?” 

“Try to cooperate to the best of your ability. I overheard them saying they want to see how we develop. If we play along well enough, they may allow us some possessions to work with.”

“To get out of here.” 

DiMA pauses. “If we can.” 

“At least it’s a plan,” Nick mutters. “Better than nothing, right?” 

With that, they both have to face the next few days. 

The distraction Nick notes from DiMA sticks around. It’s so bad he hears the lab talking about it too. They wonder if it’s some kind of flaw in his code, but no, they haven’t found a flaw, per-se. DiMA brushes it off as he is thinking about a lot of things since his creation. He has an interest in philosophy that they indulge as one indulges a child. Distracted permission to limited things.

The first thing they get is books. 

That’s what their free time becomes, DiMA and Nick firing back and forth at each other quotes and discussions in development of their higher reasoning. It becomes almost...comfortable.

“Nick, have you read this paper they left on Plato’s allegory of the cave?” 

“Yeah. Apparently these guys have no sense of self awareness. We’re already living in it.” 

DiMA lets out a snort at that. “Fair point.” 

“They have a damn lot of opinions they want us to pick up on. We don’t have to openly dissent, but I think we should at least take what they say with a grain of salt.”

“For example?” 

“How they talk about us.” Nick pauses. “We don’t look the part, but why make something that’s capable of independent thinking and judgment and treat it like shit?” 

DiMA sighs. “You have another point.” 

“We have to continue to believe we are more than that,” Nick says, determined. “We  _ have _ to be.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“For ourselves?” Nick replies, spreading one hand to the side. “This is going to be our life for the next what, thirty, forty, maybe more years if they want it. This can’t consume our entire existence. I have memories, DiMA. I had a life, even if it wasn’t really mine. I have all these feelings and I  _ know _ there’s more to life than sitting in a room taking psych evals and explaining your opinions on all of these damn books!” he sighs, shoulders slumping forwards. “You read the books for your own enjoyment. You see the sky, you love and you lose it and it hurts but you have no idea how much it’s worth until you live without it.” 

They’re both silent for a time, and Nick lowers his eyes. DiMA thinks for a minute or two. Nick always sees the emotion in DiMA when he discusses how much he cares. DiMA sees the most emotion in his brother discussing those memories that their creators put in him. The ones that make him Nick Valentine, not just N1-25.

“Nick?” 

“Mm?”

“Do you have memories of the sky?” 

“A few. Why?” 

“What is...it like?”

\--

The next week DiMA is forced to watch in silence as the scientists deactivate Nick for memory transfusion. 

When they put him back in their room, Nick lies on his side for a time, curled up in the fetal position, on edge. 

DiMA waits for him to speak. 

“Where am I?” 

“Our room. The Institute.” 

“Year?” 

“2160.”

DiMA tries to distract himself with a book. Eventually, he hears Nick sitting up, pulling back into his designated corner. 

“I...know I should trust you.”  

Words can’t phrase the love and relief in DiMA’s chest. It must show on his face, because Nick clears his throat and continues, lowering his eyes. 

“I remember that you’re here with me. You help. Care. But…”

“What did you lose, Nick?” DiMA prods gently, giving his counterpart the words. 

“Your name.”

“DiMA.”

“DiMA.” Nick lets out a breath. “They keep waiting between the memories. It makes everything harder.” 

“I know.” DiMA isn’t sure how many more times Nick is going to come back with bits of his memory missing. Is it going to cause permanent damage? DiMA can’t stand the thought.  It’s not fair. Why Nick and not him? If the scientists keep poking around in there, definitely, but if they do what Nick said last week...which he seems to have mostly forgotten...about leaving…

No. That’s- beyond him right now. He needs to focus on the present. On his brother synth. On Nick. 

“What do you remember now, Nick?”

\--

Weeks pass in this manner. Nick endears himself to DiMA further, loses pieces of his memory, and DiMA feels his heart further break. He’s given the easy end of the bargain. He gets to develop, to grow. Nick simply gets to suffer. 

DiMA knows, in his heart, though this is never, ever something he could disclose to the experimenters, that in a moment he would switch places with Nick, undergo that torment, so that his brother would never have to feel so lost again. 

They would consider it an amusing comment at best, one to discuss later and not to take seriously, never for a moment believing that they were hurting Nick. 

At worst, maybe they’d think it was a bad sign, and separate them. That would just make it worse, if they took Nick away from the one person who was reminding him of where he was and that someone even cared. 

“What do you remember from your other life now, Nick?” DiMA would ask, soothingly, after each session scrambled his twin’s thoughts. 

“Meeting Jenny,” Nick murmured this time, curled in on himself. 

“Tell me about her?” 

DiMA seemed to see that discussing the memories he had been given prompted Nick to better process and integrate them. It was the right thing to do, no, the important thing, no, both. 

“Beautiful black hair with dark eyes, she was a singer at a club back in Chicago. Her favorite drink was Long Island iced tea, her favorite artist to cover was Nina Simone, she wanted a cat and I- no-”

“You did. It is you. It was you. It does not matter how you got here, you are still you.”

“-I wanted a dog.” 

“Did you debate it?” 

“Constantly in the mornings. For fun.” 

DiMA lets his hand gently stroke the side of Nick’s face, a deathly sort of melancholy settling in where his guts would be. 

“You are alright now. I promise.” he wants to say things that he knows will be comforting but impractical, like  _ I’ll never let them hurt you again _ but he knows that they’re about as worthless as can be. They both know that even if DiMA managed to get his hands on one of their guns, even if he overcame the intense pacifism he’s developing into to manage to kill, there’s too much out there for it to stick. Hundreds of scientists, security guards, as many as they can both imagine and more than they’ve ever seen in this lifetime. An impossible battle.

They’ll simply be deactivated with a bullet to the head, and that will get them nowhere when it comes to wanting to choose a life of your own. 

They don’t want either the limited institute life DiMA has at his disposal, or the torturous memories that gift and curse Nick. That’s not all life can be; it can also be the freedom to simply choose. 

So it’s not allowed to end like that. It ends with both of them, free on the surface, even if seeing the sky is their very last act. 

DiMA jumps a bit, realizing he was lost in thought, at the feeling of touch. 

Nick has placed his hand over his brother’s, loose, with only a slight tightening of grip when DiMA looks down.

“You’re all I’ve got right now, DiMA. You’d better be thinking of something pretty damn important.”

_ You’re all I’ve got. _

“Yes. Extremely important.”


	3. Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Connections underly the things we see_  
>  _But to nuances we're blind._   
> _And I am never singular,_   
> _I was born a pair but walk alone_  
>  _My mirror shows the things I'm not_  
>  _But it helps me feel at home._
> 
> \--Radical Face, Old Gemini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewriting canon dialogue scenes is the worst, isn't it? 
> 
> So is updating your fic from bed rest as fast as imaginable because your laptop rests too close to your chest, which is covered in stitches. 
> 
> At least I had this all written ahead of time so I can keep up a schedule. Enjoy, and I _swear_ Hancock makes his entrance soon.

It’s been years since then when DiMA has had enough. Memory uploads are mostly a thing of the past, but Nick’s memory is still volatile. Incomplete. Sometimes it misses things. DiMA fears that if they stay in this place any longer, it will destroy his brother utterly. 

So he snaps. No more. They can catch him, they can kill him, but as long as Nick gets to the surface- gets to recover from these horrible experiments they run on his brain- it will be  _ enough. _

At night, when Nick sleeps, DiMA starts by using the pieces of a chess board they were given to dig out the bolts from Nick’s chair. Not his- DiMA uses it too much, it might shift when he sits and give it away. 

It takes him days. But a synth does not tire, and this synth does not need rest. It tears away at the skin of his hands, he hides the damage by day and does not bat an eye. 

The scientists have a machine that takes people to the surface. 

He’s going to hack it, and he’s going to take his brother, his only family, away from this cruel place. 

The night the last screw comes out, DiMA uses his internal chronometer to calculate the time. 

One in the morning. Perfect. He sets the last screw aside, and shakes Nick awake. 

“DiMA? What’s going on?”

“We have to go. Now.” 

“What’re you talking about?” 

“I am taking you far away from this place, Nick. I cannot let them hurt you anymore. I hope you understand.” 

Nick’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I thought you had forgotten. I thought you didn’t believe-” 

DiMA pulls his brother into a hug. “I have thought of nothing else for the past ten years, Nick. Now please. Follow my lead.”

And with that, Nick got the pleasure of witnessing his quiet, shy, thoughtful brother picking up one of their chairs and throwing it through the observation window that separated them from the outside at full force. 

“Run.”

Somehow there’s no alarms, no chase, not yet as DiMA helps his brother out the window first then pulls through on his own. He makes sure Nick runs first, sticking to the shadows and directing him from behind. It’s foolish, he knows, he made this plan and not Nick, but he whispers directions ahead of time because he knows Nick can hold on to short term memories and use them. 

“There’s a molecular relay. That’s the goal.” 

“Will they be able to tell where we went on the surface?” 

“Not for long,” DiMA vows. “Right here.”

The terminal for the relay moves too slowly for DiMA’s liking, but it boots up and he begins typing the code he’s memorised, burned to the inside of his head, to send them up to a random location and then scramble any attempt at figuring out where they went. 

The tips of his fingers burn. The metal is close to the surface. Doesn’t matter. He needs to get out of here, and now.

The relay comes to life, and Nick looks up at it with awe. “That’s gonna take us up there.”

“Yes,” DiMA says, a little short, setting the relay to go and dragging his brother inside. “It will.” 

There’s a flash of light, and the first synths to escape from the Institute get away clean. 

\--

When DiMA comes to, he’s swaying on his feet in a field of grass. Grass, it’s just like Nick described it and so much more. The sky is dark, and the stars go on forever. 

Then he notices that Nick is crumpled to the ground. 

“Nick?” 

“Get away from me!” Nick yelps, and oh no. DiMA steels himself. He’s done stuff like this before, he can deal with it, it’s not the end of the world. “What are you!” 

“It’s me. We escaped the Institute together. You’re my brother.” 

Nick looks so afraid DiMA thinks his heart breaks a little right there. “I don’t have a brother! The name’s Nick Valentine, and no one in my family tree is a plastic-skinned freak!” 

DiMA gently tries to touch his brother’s shoulder, as he’s done so many times before, just to help him. It’s alright. Nick’s lost his memory before, but it always comes back, doesn’t it? 

“You’re just confused. Let me help-” 

“Stay away from me!” Nick yelps, and DiMA realizes they have a problem.

He realizes that as Nick defensively hits him across the face with a strong punch. 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” And it’s true-- DiMA has seen Nick hurt enough, it’s not fair, nothing has ever been fair to the synth Nick Valentine. The last thing he needs is this.

DiMA steels his nerves, knowing that there’s only one way to figure out what to do, and knocks out his brother. 

He sits there for a minute, grieving, really. He wants Nick to find a life. He wants to live, and he isn’t going to let everything that he fought for, for both of them, be lost. He’s not sure if Nick will live or die, but he recalls reading old world religious texts for the story of Moses. DiMA isn’t sure what he thinks about religion, but he knows that all he can do is, like the mother in the parable, put his loved one somewhere safe and pray they survive. Because after these years, god knows DiMA cannot bring himself to kill- let alone kill Nick.

So DiMA puts Nick in a nearby dumpster- safe enough, most people will think he’s deactivated. 

“Goodbye, brother,” he says, to nothing, already in a form of mourning. 

And he walks away up the coast of the Commonwealth, determined to go somewhere the Institute can’t reach, not just to grieve, but to live.

\--

Nick wakes up in a Commonwealth spring morning, believing, for a few peaceful minutes, that it is 2077 and he is Detective Nick Valentine. 

Then, of course, he gets a look at his hands, his body, and he spends a few minutes in the dumpster he awoke in, shaking, trying to understand what the hell was going on. The gaps in his memory, the state of the city, they had to be connected, right? And the strange, eerie form he could barely recognize as himself, now? 

There needed to be some answer. 

Something. 

Anything. 

Nick finds it comforting to locate clothes, first and foremost. Once he has those, he feels a little more human. So to speak. 

The people in these little shantytowns scattered through the ruins of a once-grand city he knew long ago react to him with curiosity. A few with fear. He tries to get information out of them, but it’s of little avail. He’s something called a synth. Made by people called the Institute. They must have thrown him out, then. 

There was a nuclear war in 2077, after the original Nick Valentine had his memories scanned at CIT. 

So he’s a copy. 

Nick remains itinerant, for the most part. There’s nothing in any of these towns for him, the people tolerate him or look at him with a wary eye. He’s the only synth outside the Institute, after all, the only synth in the commonwealth. And that’s fine.

So he keeps wandering for the next few years. The days pass slow, he makes a few caps doing odd jobs for those who will trust him, he holds his own against wasteland creatures, and comes to terms with who and what he is.  

That is, until he stumbles upon a camp at the edge of a forest. Camp is a strong word- it’s a makeshift tent next to the shed he had been planning on using for the night. 

It’s inhabited by two children, a younger, more curious one who tries to follow him into his temporary shelter, and an older one, sixteen perhaps, who stops the younger. 

“What are you doing in there!” 

“...stopping for the night?”

“Why would you do that? I didn’t think synths sleep.” 

“I do. Besides, traveling at night is more trouble than it’s worth. I’m in no rush.” He looks at the older one out the door. “Are you?”

“Our family’s expecting us back in town tomorrow.” 

“They must be eager to have you back,” Nick replies sincerely. He doesn’t hurt kids. The wasteland may have made him a different man and a better hunter than ever, but no kids. 

The older girl sighs and lowers her pipe rifle. 

“Look, I’m going to patch you up if you wander into Eden, okay mister? You look gross.” 

With that, the girl leaves him alone, and next is the brother. 

Nick feels curious eyes on him for an hour or more before the child speaks. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Hm?” 

“The holes. In your face. Do they hurt?”

What an odd question. Nick doesn’t think  _ anyone’s _ ever asked him if his scars hurt. 

“No. They don’t.”

“Huh. Does anything hurt?” 

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate for the sake of whatever may be left of the child’s innocence, here. “It can.” 

“Oh, okay, so you’re not saying they don’t hurt because nothing does, but they just don’t hurt.” 

“Yes, I suppose I am.” 

“I’m Jim. I’m sorry my sister Luzia was mean earlier mister. She just wants to get home safe.”

“I can’t blame her.” 

“Do you have a home?” 

“Not really.”

“Everyone needs a home, I think. A place to feel comfortable. With people you care about.”

“Most people tend to be a little wary of the scars, if nothing else.” 

“Then you just need to find the right people.” Jim pauses. “Luzia is a mechanic in town, you know. She took me out to scav for parts. She can probably clean up your machinery if you want,  mister.” 

“I’ll see about it,” Nick says, genuinely, because hell, he probably could use a cleaning after forty-some years out here. Some Abraxo won’t hurt. 

“Awesome! I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions for you about how you work and stuff.” 

“Well, she’s welcome to ask.” 

“If you wanna come by, Eden is that way, okay?” 

Nick memorizes the direction the child is pointing. 

“Okay.”

He really could use a tune-up, anyway, right? And from what he knows, plenty of wastelanders are skilled with machinery. It’s plausible a sixteen-year-old would be too.    
Besides all that, he simply wants to believe in the basic goodness of people, even after the end of the world.


	4. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and DiMA meet some kids- sort of. 
> 
> _Say it's true, it's true-_  
>  _That we can break through_  
>  _Though torn in two_  
>  _We can be one._  
>  \-- U2, New Year's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to post the chapter that touches on the New Year today, but I guess it came together. So take this _Challengers_ chapter with oddly perfect timing! 
> 
> Happy New Year, team! And thank you so much for the comments, kudos, and for reading!

In Eden, Jim persuades his sister to begrudgingly patch up the metal man. Nick remains patient and cooperative- after all, she doesn’t need to do this by any means. 

He’s quiet most of the interaction, until Luzia asks him something, looking at his bad hand. 

“Why’d you leave?” 

Nick shrugs. “They threw me out. I don’t remember why. Guess they were just done with me.” 

Luzia hums. “You remember how you damaged all the skin here? You get into a fight with a yao guai or somethin’?” 

“You should see the other guy,” Nick jokes weakly. Luzia snorts. 

“Real funny, wise guy. I don’t know if I can sew it up like a medic, I might need to cut bits of it off to pre-empt further damage to the rest of the skin.” 

“I don’t think it grows back naturally, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Probably not. It’s just some kinda plastic anyway.” 

“Unlucky for me.” 

Luzia makes sure he cleans up alright. He leaves just after the turning of the year. He knows it’s the new year because the citizens of Eden celebrate. Luzia gives him a gift of a pipe pistol. It’s not much, but he knows it means something. Nick’s internal chronometer is off, he thinks- he can tell the time of day, but he can lose track of the day of week, or the year.

“Luzia?” 

“Hm?” she asks. “What, need a bit more abraxo on your bones or oil on your creaky ol’ joints before you go?” 

“Nah. I just had to ask you something, kid.” 

“What is it?” 

“What...year is it, now?” 

Luzia laughs. 

“It’s 2229 now, Nick. Happy New Year.” 

\--

Nick is heading south five months later when he hears the news. Places he’s traveled before look at him differently now, look at each other differently now, even. Because people know that they’ve perfected human-mimicking synths. 

Even though he’s clear about what he knows and doesn’t, this just ups the ante and the paranoia. People start to hate synths, because there are more of them, and they are more nebulous to hate. In 2232, paranoia starts kicking up about the Institute replacing people’s loved ones with synths, kidnapping the original person for mysterious experiments. 

How could they not know? One of them snapped right in the middle of the famous Diamond City. Killed people. The Institute just has a  _ way _ of making people hate synths. Just his luck.

Nick, re-isolated to some corner of any town he stops in, has to wonder if the replacements go through the same sort of pain he did, if they ever know or realize. If whatever the Institute did with him was just a rough draft, just a starter, and they were waiting this whole time to work out some other problem, or for the stars to simply align alright, so that they could do this to other synths. 

Other people. 

He can’t think about that right now. 

Someone hits him in the back with a tato. He doesn’t turn around at the moment, because he can’t. His hands clench reflexively. 

“No synthetics in our town. Get out.” 

Nick grits his teeth, but keeps his expression neutral. 

“That’s fine. Wasn’t planning on staying.”

If he gets angry he’s just going to prove himself to be everything they are trying to think he is. 

\--

In a place far away, far to the north and east, a foggy, irradiated island abandoned by time, DiMA was in an interesting situation.

In the years after leaving Nick be, DiMA tried to take his mind off of things. Tried not to worry about his brother, and that all along he had said that all they needed was a chance. Besides, something very...un-synth-like, call it instinct, deep in his gut said that he’d see Nick again. 

He lived in the woods of the Island, keeping mostly to himself- first out of a nuclear submarine alone, then with the company of some pilgrims who worshiped the location. DiMA appreciated the company. It was simple, easy, a very inherently human desire even if they have a bare-bones understanding of what he is and why he is here.

Two months after fully human-appearing Institute synths came crawling out into the light, though DiMA did not know the occasion, one of them turned up on his doorstep. A small, nerdy-looking man, who looked at DiMA with surprise. 

“You’re-- a synth?” 

“Yes, I am. Why have you come here?” 

The stranger shifts in place. “My name is F4-24- no, no, that’s a bad way to start, idiot-- I need a safe place and the people in Far Harbor said that there was- a synth, from the Commonwealth, out here, who would probably take me in.”

DiMA cocks his head. “You’re a synth.”

“Yes. Yes that’s what I’m trying to say.”

DiMA examines F4. He can’t detect a hint of a lie, and...what does the man have to gain from such a lie? Surely someone would want to hurt anyone with such a claim, even if it is false. 

“They made you look so...alive.”

“Yes. Definitely. That’s, uh...just about how it works these days. I ran off but it’s not safe in the Commonwealth because they all think the Institute is sending spies everywhere even if most of the synths down there when I saw them just wanted to escape and I-” he breaks off. “There has to be something you can do, right?” 

“I can help you,” DiMA replies, with deep resolve. “You are- allowed to have a name, though. You may choose one. I did.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. I am DiMA. Now you are allowed to decide who you want to be.” 

DiMA lets the new synth read from some of the scraps of books he’s collected for a few days, deciding to keep a lid on his curiosity. 

On day four, the new synth approaches him. “DiMA?” 

“Yes?” 

“On the way here I found this...observatory. It’s a little beat up, but with a few adjustments I think we could--” 

“Could what?” 

“Well, move in. I think, um, we can’t be the only ones who benefit from being up here, right? And there’s more room out there.”

DiMA’s gears- literal gears- start turning. Of course. The very concept gives him the idea of a purpose, something he never really developed after Nick. Before that, his purpose was  _ to protect _ . And now, he supposes, he is to direct that to others as some sort of pean to the one he could not save.

“Why wait for them to come to us? They have little other help. They will come if we call.

“If we set up a radio, or something, figure out how to contact synths in the Commonwealth and let them know how to get here.” 

“Excellent idea. There must be some salvage up there. We can  _ help them. _ ” He feels such empathy for their pain.

“Oh, and one more thing, DiMA?”

“Yes?” 

“I’ve, uh, decided on a name. Can you call me Faraday?” 

“Of course. Dear Faraday, I think this could be the beginning of something great.” 

DiMA considers himself a little bemused by how the tips of Faraday’s ears turn a little pink.

\--

Nick’s on his usual cycle of itinerance through the Commonwealth, close to downtown he thinks, he hears voices.

This instantly puts him on alert. Voices can be a good thing or a bad thing. These ones sound like the latter, and he’s about to steer clear, and then he hears something that changes his mind.

“-lemme go! I don’t wanna be here anymore!”

It’s a young woman, maybe seventeen Nick guesses from her voice. She’s wearing a nice green pre-war dress, only slightly scuffed up, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail with a bit of clean string. Nick would guess she was doing pretty well for herself when she got into this mess.

Oh  _ damn. _

Nick sighs, examining his supplies. A few bandages, some stimpaks even though they do him little good in the long term, just interact in a rather basic sense with his coolant tubes and sensors. He’s never been one for the chems.

He’s doing...okay, on ammunition, for the Commonwealth- shouldn’t this place have burned through all the bullets out there by now? He’s not going to be making the switch to hand to hand until everyone else does first, though. He’s got ten shots, tops, which really has to count, or else.

Nick sneaks closer to where the voices are, holed up in a building around a campfire. The girl is restrained with what looks like rope, and there looks to be five of them. Risking ammunition might be a bad idea. So what else has he got going for him?

Nick ruminates for a minute, listening to the girl complain until one of her captors groans “Shut up already, bitch” with a hint of drunkenness in his voice and Nick almost feels the figurative light bulb go off inside of his head.

“Hey!”

The thugs- Nick imagines they’re probably raiders or some such- look up at him.

“I would get out of here if I were you. And leave the girl.”

“Why’d we wanna do that, synth?” the leader hisses, spitting out the word. Nick tries not to flinch.

“Because I’ve got a bomb. In here.” Nick taps his chest plate, trying to keep a straight face at his own, horrible ruse. “It’s gonna be like a mini-nuke when this thing goes off, boys. You had better move along.”

“Yeah, right. You’re fucking with-”

“Beep.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Beep. Beep. Beep.”

Nick bites his synthetic tongue as the group competes with themselves to see how fast they can get out of there. Then, he sits down next to the girl, untying her bonds.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, definitely,” she says, rubbing her wrists. “Why did you do that?”

“Right thing to do. You got a place to go, miss?”

“Alanna. Alanna Roberts.” she extends her hand to shake, demeanor upbeat as if she’s done this plenty before, and Nick appreciates the politeness as he reciprocates.

“Nick Valentine.”

“I do, but it’s, um...it’s a bit of a trip from here, and…”

“Don’t worry about it, Alanna. I’ll make sure you get there safe.”

“They’re not exactly huge fans of synths, Mr. Valentine.”

“I’ve had worse. I don’t plan on staying long, anyhow, just to see you off alright.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Positive. We can’t have you getting into trouble again, can we?”

Alanna laughs nervously.

“Well...I suppose not.”

“What were those guys doing with you anyway?”

She casts her eyes down slightly. “I had been seeing one of them for a few weeks. He, um...persuaded me to run away with him. Turns out he was just manipulating me.”

Nick feels, for some reason, a pang of empathy. “Hey. It’s not your fault he decided to hurt you, alright? The Commonwealth’s a rough place, but in situations like these, it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for it, or anything you’re thinking.”

“...thanks, Mr. Valentine. I, um...once we get home, I think my dad might have a reward for you, if you’d like.”

“I didn’t do this for a reward, kid. But I ain’t gonna turn down a gift.”

“A  _ gift _ then,” Alanna says. “Not many people don’t need a reward.”

“Not a lot I really  _ need, _ really.”


	5. Diamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick takes Alanna home and stumbles upon a place to stay. Residents of Diamond City start to ask the metal man for help.  
>  _We know, we know, we belong to ya_  
>  _We know you threw your arms around us_  
>  _In the hopes we wouldn't change_  
>  _But we had to change some_  
>  _You know, to belong to you._
> 
> \--The Decemberists, The Singer Addresses his Audence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters to make the timeline fit contain one of my weird assumptions about the fallout universe that ""mayor"" in many places including Diamond City is a near-lifetime appointment barring popular revolt. Which makes sense because of a limited population. When they gotta be replaced you vote/agree on it but like, once they're in, they stay for a way longer time than they do today. 
> 
> I really should have figured out a way to insinuate that, but I did not, because I am stupid.

“You never said you lived in Diamond City, kid.” 

Alanna shrugs sheepishly. “Did I not?” 

Nick sighs, giving her an almost parental glare. “Come on.” 

The guard at the gate sounds shocked. “Alanna?! We thought you had--”

Alanna fumes, almost childishly, fists balled at her sides, torso leaned forwards. Well, then again, she is a teenager. Not all the way there, yet. And she must want to get home anyway.  “Open the damn door, wise guy, I gotta talk to my dad.” 

“Of course. Um, can, can one of you get Mayor Roberts…?” 

“Your dad runs the place?” 

“Let’s-- let’s focus on the task at hand, here,” Alanna mutters, looking down and away in shame, folding her arms. “I didn’t want you to treat me different, Mr. Valentine, or take me away like Jack and his crew. I figured if I pretended I wasn’t anyone important you’d just drop me back anyway.” 

“You’re lucky my intentions are entirely benevolent, Alanna,” Nick mutters as the gate opens. “I did what I did cause it was right. That’s all.” 

“Alanna!” 

“Daddy!” 

Mayor Roberts grabs his daughter and hugs her tight. 

“I’m sorry,” Alanna blurts, as Nick tries not to intrude on the moment. “I’m lucky I got home safe. I shouldn’t’ve listened to a stupid boy.” 

“Thank god you’re alright.”

“Daddy, this is Mr. Valentine. He helped me get home safe.” 

Mayor Roberts looks...like a wave of emotions pulses through him. At first recognition, then fear, then realization. No synth who worked for the Institute would do something like that. Nick waits for a moment, and all is silent in anticipation of the moment. 

“Thank you, Mr. Valentine.”

“Nick’s fine, sir.” 

“I...know this is a lot to offer, especially with the Commonwealth in the state it’s in right now, but I recently had to evict some residents who live just off the market. The keys to the place are yours if you want them. I know it might not be the safest place for you right now, but...my daughter owes you her life. The least that I can do is offer you a place to stay.” 

Nick pauses. He would turn it down, and go back to wandering, but he does want to accept the gift. He really feels like it. 

Hell. Detective’s instincts must be pretty damn good. He’s survived this long, hasn’t he?

“If you think it’s alright, sir, then I won’t turn down such a gift. I’m just glad I got your daughter home alright.” 

“I’ll walk you down there myself,” the mayor says. “Fend off all the questions and talk, eh?”

Nick chuckles. “Oh, I’m used to all of that, Mr. Mayor.” 

“Still. You’ve proven yourself a man of some morals, to me. We owe you a chance as good people. The Institute may not be trustworthy, but that doesn’t mean synths are just extensions of it.”

“You’re a very progressive man, Mr. Roberts. I...appreciate the trust.”

\--

It’s a little odd to make the switch to a mostly sedentary lifestyle, as opposed to itinerant, but Nick finds it a little more relaxing. Sure, he can feel the people watching him at pretty much every minute of every day, but he’s got his own place to hole up at night. He answers questions honestly, he does small jobs for caps, and he doesn’t draw attention to himself. 

At some point, everyone relaxes. Nick gives it five, maybe seven years. Less time than he would have given it, anyway.

Alanna likes to visit, down from the stands, until she gets married to some boy from the nearby shantytown of Goodneighbor. Then she isn’t Alanna Roberts anymore, she’s Alanna Perkins, and she says goodbye and thank you to Nick before she moves out that way with her husband. Dangerous place, but he thinks she’s much better equipped to handle it now. He feels better letting her go this time, for certain. 

It’s not an easy life, fixing every little thing in Diamond City, but hey, it works for him. 

He’s patching up some of the equipment at the bar when he hears the argument. 

“For chrissakes, Jake, there’s no way she made it anywhere with all the mutants. Whatever Elisa ran out for, she’s dead.”

“I don’t care, man, I need to know if she’s alright!” 

Nick sits up, then pokes his head out over the bar at the center of Diamond City. 

“Gentlemen, anything I can help you with?” 

“Nick. My wife went off on some urgent errand yesterday evening, hasn’t come back. Can you see about tracking her down?” 

Nick thinks the concept over, fiddling with the adjustable wrench in his hands. It can’t be too different from the experiences he remembers from the first Nick Valentine, right? Same concept, new terrain. 

“I can give it a try. Let me finish fixing up the propane stove and you can tell me what you know.” 

And thus began the second part of Nick’s life- but to him, the most important one, the one that made him feel more like a person. 

“So she ran out?” 

“Yeah. Short notice, said she had an errand to finish before dark. Waited up until half the city was asleep, then I passed out. Woke up in the morning, started asking after her.” 

“Hm. I take it she didn’t say what she had to do?”

“No, not a word. Security figures it was the Institute, but that’s what they always say! Even if it was just, I dunno, raiders or somethin, I wanna know what it was. It’s important to me, Nicky.” 

Gah, Nick doesn’t like that nickname. Feels...condescending somehow. But he’s learned to play it cool. 

“I see.” He keeps to himself that he thinks the Institute has a lighter touch with such things. If they wanted to replace someone with a gen three synth, no one would even notice the person was gone. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll search the paths to Goodneighbor- if there was anything going on that really was her wanting to run an errand, that’s pretty much the only place that you can get something you might miss in Diamond City.” 

“Thank you. Thank you. If you can figure out anything, I’ve got caps.” 

Nick nods. He already has at least one contact in the area, so at least he’s starting this case with somewhat of an advantage. 

Huh. He called it a case. 

Maybe these jobs suit him. 

\--

Alanna lives out of one of the buildings on Goodneighbor’s backstreets now, with her husband, Gil. She excitedly greets him in the street, looking a little...well. ‘Glowing’ would be the polite term. Nick supposes she’ll bring it up when she’s ready.

“Nick, I was wondering when you’d find the time to visit.”

“Not just here on vacation, sorry, Alanna. I have a job to do.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Jake Carlisle asked me to find his wife, Elisa. Figured she might’ve come here.” 

Alanna hums softly. “Check the Rexford and the Third Rail. They might have what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you.” 

“Wait, wait, Nick-” 

“Hm?” 

“Before you go, uh...we’re having a child.” 

Nick’s eyes widen. “Con...Congratulations, Alanna.” 

“I was gonna tell you we’re gonna name it Nick if it’s a boy, but I think that’d be too much pressure for him to live up to, huh?” Alanna laughs to herself. If Nick could blush, he would, but he conveys the same emotion by ducking his head. 

“So we’ve agreed if it’s a boy we’re gonna call it Charlie. If it’s a girl we’re gonna call it Eleanor. But we think this one’s a boy. No big, we’re gunnin’ for two anyhow.” 

“Good choices, Alanna.” 

“Thank you. Whatever it is it’s never gonna hear the end of the stories about Nick Valentine,” she declares, proud of herself. “Now go find yourself a missing wife.” 

Nick laughs now, too. “I’m gonna do my damndest.” 

\--

The Hotel Rexford. If anyone stays the night in Goodneighbor, chances are these people know about it.

“Do you even need a room?” the man behind the desk asks, and Nick sighs, rolling his eyes slightly. 

“No, I’m looking for a woman from Diamond City. Five and a half foot, bright red hair, green eyes, freckles. Probably blown through here in the last day or two. Husband says she has a bit of an accent.”

“Yeah, seen her. Hate to say it, but she definitely ran off with a lover. We got noise complaints all over the hotel about the sex.” the receptionist makes a disgusted face. “Weren’t even around in the morning for me to get a fee off of ‘em in caps. Does that answer your question?” 

Nick grimaces. That’s gonna be a hard talk to have. 

Then again, he’s done a lot of hard talks. So he might as well just keep doing what he’s good at. 

“Thanks.”

And Nick breezes out the door. He probably owes Alanna something for dinner. Maybe one of the merchants at the front of town has something worth it. 

\--

He knocks on Jake’s door just after sundown. 

“Nick! Oh, man, please tell me Elisa’s okay.” 

Nick winces. “Good news and bad news, kid.” 

“Oh boy.” 

“She’s definitely okay. But she probably ain’t coming back, either.” 

“What?” 

“She met a guy at the Rexford over in Goodneighbor. Proprietors say they were, uh...having a  _ two-person _ sort of party, if you see what I’m getting at. Said she left this morning with the mystery man, like clockwork. No evidence of coercion. I’m sorry.”

Jake...looks disappointed, but he sighs. “Thanks for looking into it, Nick. Don’t know what else I expected. Maybe I hoped she wasn’t stepping out at all. But hey, if she’s staying away, at least I know why.” 

Jake reaches into one pocket. “Here, Nick. For your time.” 

Nick stares down at the handful of caps he’s been given. Twenty to fifty, maybe. 

“Thank you.” 

“Yeah. No problem. I’ll let everyone know you do stuff like this now, if you want? I think a lot of people could use the help.”   
“I think so too,” Nick says, pocketing the money. “I’m willing to help whoever needs it. I think I have something to work with, with this whole... investigator thing. Might even make a sign, if it works out.”


	6. Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DiMA remembers. Nick gets attention from some children- good, and bad. 
> 
> A new player waits in the wings. 
> 
> _Careful the things you say_   
>  _Children will listen_   
>  _Careful the things you do_   
>  _Children will see_   
>  _And learn_   
>  _Guide them along the way_   
>  _Children will listen_   
>  _Children will look to you_   
>  _For which way to turn_   
>  _To learn what to be_   
>  _Careful before you say_   
>  _"Listen to me"_   
>  _Children will listen._
> 
> \-- Finale, Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We open on an interlude of Faradima, but the more important thing is: 
> 
> Finally, I'm actually starting to fulfill the tags I promised at the opening of this fic. I swore Hancock would be here. I told you all. I made you sit through all that exposition to get to this point, where he's finally about to be relevant. 
> 
> I am so sorry I made y'all wait and anticipate with those tags. He's almost here.
> 
> I'm excited. :3

Faraday is sorting through the piles of drives and holotapes of DiMA’s offloaded memories. 

Sixty years has given DiMA a lot of experiences, most of them scrap type things, walks along the island, particularly relaxing moments. DiMA doesn’t want them deleted, just offloaded, and Faraday’s happy to oblige. God knows he wouldn’t wanna lose every moment that wasn’t necessarily useful, but just good. 

The old servers in the observatory serve their purpose nicely with some upgrades and new bits to accommodate DiMA’s modifications. 

Shuffling through some of the memories DiMA offloaded on his own on the Nucleus, Faraday discovers a box of holotapes. Copied forms of DiMA’s old memories. Hm. 

“Hey, DiMA.” 

“Yes?” 

“Found some new ones. Putting them in now.” 

Faraday begins to fiddle with the machines. When he inserts the first tape, DiMA makes a soft gasp. 

“DiMA? Are they bad?” 

“No. No! Keep putting them in.” 

Faraday keeps working, even though it sounds like DiMA is...the equivalent of crying for a prototype synth. 

He pauses, last holotape in his hands. “DiMA. Do you, ummm...wanna talk about what’s on these?” 

“Put the last one in first, please.” 

Faraday obliges. DiMA leans forwards in his chair. 

“...DiMA?”

“I feel...renewed purpose, dearest Faraday.” he pauses. “I was not the only prototype. I had a brother.”

“You did?” Faraday asks, surprised. 

“Yes. They practiced the techniques they use to put memories into synths on him. Synths like him are the reason we are doing this.” 

“...elaborate?” he can’t help but let notes of nervous confusion creep into his voice.

“I watched them hurt him every day for so many years, Faraday. So much anguish within one mind...it scarred him permanently. I was forced to leave him in the Commonwealth. He forgot who I am because of the instability of his mind.”

“DiMA...I’m so sorry.”

“That’s why we’re going to do this. So that no synth has to lose their memory and identity again. That is my ideal.” he pauses for a moment. “The tapes you gave back to me are memories of him before he forgot me. I must have removed them after I started the process in the Nucleus. I must have wanted not to have reason to grieve. Thank you for bringing this back to me.” 

“Oh, y-yeah, of course, DiMA. No problem.” 

“Alright- dearest Faraday, please, return to the rest of your work. I did not mean to keep you.”

Faraday picks up his tools. 

He likes being here, with DiMA, in their little home to which they hope to welcome so many others in the future.

\--

The children of Diamond City have really grown quite attached to Nick. It surprises him. They stumble and dash through the market after school, waving to him, asking excitedly if he saw anything interesting today, if he has any stories. Nick always finds time to make up a lie or two for them. 

Well, not a lie...a story. He tones down the details to keep them mostly away from the gore and such, but he tries to think of something for them. 

“Detective Valentine!” they call, running through the main marketplace. “Have you ever fought a deathclaw?” 

“Not in a while, kid. That’s how I lost what was left of my right hand.” 

“Woah!” 

To be quite honest, yes, he did tangle with one once, and he did lose a chunk of the skin on his bad hand. But in reality, the skin there was a long time dying. He just likes to tell the children it came off dramatically in some big fight. They find it entertaining. 

“We’re learning to read in the school!” 

“Oh yeah?” Nick lights up one of his cigarettes, since it’s way over the heads of the kids anyway. “Keep learning and I might let you take a look at some of my case files, you-” 

A light goes on in his head right there. 

That night, Nick digs through his collection of books. He’s scraped them out of houses, scavenged them from all over the Commonwealth. Sometimes some of the pages are missing, but something is better than nothing. Nick misses the books he used to have. 

But there, in his stack of preferred, beloved mystery fiction, is what he’s looking for. The book he thought of earlier. 

He reads it again, chainsmoking past midnight. 

Oh, yes, he can work with this. 

The next day, when the kids get out, he’s waiting for them. 

“You kids feel like helping an old detective out?” 

The usual few who always seem the most interested stand out. Nick hopes this’ll only put them somewhere relatively safe and sane while still getting their daily chat with Diamond City’s detective. 

“Alright, alright, listen up. You keep your ears out for anything that you think is suspicious. Conversations you overhear, you see someone who goes missing before they go- bring them here. I’ll pay...10 caps for a good lead on an active case, 5 or miscellaneous gossip, fifteen for bringing in a new case. You don’t have to, but it’s good to be pulling information in. One ground rule: stay in Diamond City. You following some stranger and they leave? Come get me first. Got it? Simple, really. Just do what you normally do, keep an ear out, and let me know if you think something’s wrong.” 

It works on most of the kids. They tend to bring miscellaneous gossip most of the time, but their families can use the caps to spare, and Nick gets little insights, notes, and clues on the citizens he works for. 

He’s no sadist, they’re not going anywhere unless there’s a case he needs them for- but it makes him feel hell of a lot better to have the information and keep an eye on the kids at the same time. 

Eventually they grow up a bit, have their own kids or kid siblings and Nick makes friends with those kids, too.

Nick never expected to be good with kids, really. He was ok with them in his past life, even though that’s not... _ really _ him. Old Nick could comfort children who had just been through hell enough to get them to talk to him about whatever went wrong. 

Nick remembers an arson case he had in his early career in Chicago. 

_ “What is it with Chicago and fires?”  _ he had muttered to one of his coworkers, moving towards the child they had saved, no more than eleven, being treated by paramedics. 

_ “Luke, this is Detective Valentine. He’s going to help.” _ Nick bends over so he can get on the kid’s level. 

He hates being talked down to, so god knows the kid probably doesn’t need that in his night. 

_ “Hi Luke. I need you to tell me if you saw anything important, alright? Anyone who should’nt’ve been home, or smelled gas.”  _

The kid wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. They probably itch from all the smoke and ash, Nick infers. 

_ “I smelled a bit ‘f propane in the kitchen, but I didn’t see anyone.”  _

Nick hums. That is something, but he doesn’t know what. 

_ “If you remember anything, tell your nurse to call me. We’re going to figure out what happened.” _

The kid nods. 

Nick recognizes the sparkle of admiration in the kid’s eyes. He sees it in the eyes of the meeker citizens and children of Diamond City in the years after he finds out the fate of Elisa, the runaway Diamond City wife. 

It never quite settles in his heart. 

People shouldn’t look up to him.

\--

There’s a kid from down on the waterfront. 

Nick knows Diamond City didn’t always have a waterfront, that it used to be empty, because he remembers baseball (even though he can’t convince anyone of it, unfortunately.) The waterfront’s a new addition to the landscape, added by shifts in the dirt and irradiated rain. 

But it’s a vital part of Diamond City’s structure. Fresh water to purify, right there, means no one has to risk going out or digging a well, and it’s unique in that the waters are free of anything particularly nasty, like mirelurks. 

There’s a kid from the waterfront that sometimes catches his attention, and not in a positive way, necessarily. 

Patrick McDonough (junior) comes off to him as kind of...well, full of himself. 

“Get out of my way,” he hisses to the ghoul citizens, and Nick ashes his cigarette, face twitching slightly with irritation. He likes the ghouls. They were the first to get to know him, after all, they know rejection already. 

“Hey. Kid. Show some respect for your elders.” 

Patrick scoffs, rolling his eyes. “For what?” 

Nick scowls. That kid’s either going to turn his life around or become someone not-so-great. 

“Aren’t you kids supposed to be home by dark.”

“Last time I checked, you weren’t my parent.” 

“No, but I am older than you’ll ever be, and so’re they. People deserve your respect, kid. I can always talk to your parents if I gotta.” 

With an irritated huff, the kid treks off to the waterfront. 

Good fucking riddance. Nick lights another cigarette. 

“Sorry about that kid, Carla.”

“Can’t win em all, Nick. At least a kid’s just a kid.” 

“Yeah,” Nick semi-agrees, “But kids don’t get their ideas outta nowhere. They hear ‘em from other people. That’s what worries me about this one.” 

“Nicky, nothing’s gonna go wrong. It’s just a stupid kid being...well, stupid.” 

“I hope so.”

What else Nick notices about the kid is that he mostly turns down the little bribes to share information, unless he thinks he’ll get something out of it. Nick sees the potential of this child to be cunning and cruel, but he has no idea what’s to come. 

He only hears this part of the story later, when he’s an older synth, but in the spring of 2252, Pat’s younger brother is born. Pat, unsurprisingly, doesn’t treat him too well. It’s not that big a deal, his little brother would say, brushing it off if asked. 

That’s just what brothers do.


	7. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Player 3 joins the game. 
> 
> _For we who grew up tall and proud_   
>  _In the shadow of the mushroom cloud_   
>  _Convinced our voices can't be heard,_   
>  _We just wanna scream it louder and louder and louder-_   
>  _What the hell're we fighting for!_
> 
> \-- Queen, Hammer to Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late because I'm about to start school up again, here's more Challengers. 
> 
> A Boy enters.

It’s years on when Nick bumps into a new kid. 

He’s been around the school a little less, doesn’t need to so much, the kids are used to him and his deals. They find him if they feel like it.

This kid, a little reddish-blond ball of energy, runs into him as he’s walking towards the doctor’s to chat about some leads. 

“Jeez, kid, you alright?” 

The kid, fourteen or so, dusts himself off and gives Nick a cheeky salute. His wavy hair is tied back with a cast-off bit of string. He’s got clever green eyes, a dash of freckles across his nose from exposure to the Diamond City sun. He’s got a somewhat distinctive way of holding himself, too...Nick would call it charisma.

Nick doesn’t think he’s run into this kid before- um...no pun intended. 

“Just fine Mr. Valentine! Sorry for startling ya, it was my bad anyway.” 

“Where were you...going in such a hurry, kid?” 

“Oh, my brother’s mad I hid a rotting mutfruit in his shoe and now there’s some kinda gross bug nest in there. To be fair, he deserves it, he pushes me around all the time. Don’t get mad, get even, right?” the kid grins, mercurial and clever beyond his years. “But it’s no biggie, Mr. V, brothers are just like that.” 

Nick wants to dispute that, but he can’t say why. Nick Valentine before the war never had a brother, and neither did Nick the synth. “...I see.”

“He’ll calm down soon ‘nough, wash it out and let it dry,” the kid says, sensing his disbelief. “He’s done worse to me, honest.”

“I believe ya, kid.” Nick shrugs. “Don’t have a brother. Don’t really get it, is all.” 

“Well, yeah, I guess not.” the kid scratches the back of his head, then sticks out his hand. “John McDonough, sorry. I dunno if we’ve really properly met before. I mean, everyone knows who you are, but I don’ expect you to know everyone if you haven’t worked for ‘em before.” 

Nick shakes. “Ah. McDonough. That explains it. Had to shoo your brother off from bothering others before, you know.” 

“He has a lot of opinions that he likes expressing and they’re normally pretty...wild. I think he does it for attention. And everyone says I’m the one who acts out for it, huh?” 

“Can’t be that far gone if I haven’t had to lecture you yet, kid,” Nick points out. Lots of parents have him discuss the consequences of teenage stupidity with their children. He has no idea why, but he does anyway, because they ask him.

“Don’t talk so soon, Mr Valentine. It ain’t over yet.” 

“I’ll cut that off at the pass,” Nick says, lowering his gaze to be stern. “Don’t be stupid with your choices, John. We only got one life. Don’t throw it away.” 

“I gottit covered, Mr. V, don’t sweat it.” John salutes him lazily, and jogs off. 

Nick watches John McDonough pass through. Hm. 

That’s something new that’s happened. 

\--

John McDonough is a chatty sonofagun. 

Nick usually has his office door open during the day, obviously. Unlocked for anyone who might want to see him. 

Once he’s even met the kid and apparently piqued the kid’s interest, John McDonough runs in at random hours of the day, to talk to him.

“Percy at the general store’s got gumdrops! D’you eat those? D’you eat, like, at all?” 

“Not really, don’t need to. But I can.” 

“Do you like the green ones?” 

“Yeah, sure kid, fine.” 

“Good, because I don’t like them too much. I’m eating all the red ones and I didn’t wanna just throw the rest away, y’know?”

John beams. Oh. The kid was trying to give him a present. 

“Mr Valentine, Mr Valentine-” 

“Detective,” Nick mutters, putting out his cigarette- he tries not to smoke around John. 

“Can I hide under your desk, cause I whiffed a water balloon meant for Pat while he was talking to Hettie Stokes and totally nailed Doc Sun in the face. Total accident, but you know how pissed that guy gets, right, what’s his whole damage anyway it’s just  _ water- _ ” 

As much as Nick thinks Patrick McDonough is a shit, he wonders whether the outcome would have been worse for John if he did, in fact, hit his brother with water while his brother was talking to his...lady friend.

Nick sighs tiredly. “How old are you?” 

“Fourteen or so. No one’s too old for fun, Mr. V.” 

Nick sighs, putting his feet up. “Go ahead.” 

John beams. “You’re pretty cool when you wanna be, you know.” 

Nick rolls his eyes. “At least it’s not that big a deal when you get into trouble like this.” 

“What? Not a fan of picking me up from a little bit of fun at night?” 

“Not when it’s in Goodneighbor, John. You don’t wanna get too mixed up in the kinda stuff you can do there.” 

“I’ll be fiiine,” John says, ducking under the desk. Nick scoffs. 

“Whatever you say. I--”

The door to Nick’s office bangs open. Nick takes his feet off the desk. 

“Doctor, if you’re doing your best to break my door, someone better’d’ve died.” 

“Have you seen McDonough?” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of ‘em. They’re supposed to be damn adults. Or close to it.” 

“This sounds like a story,” Nick mutters. “Check up in the stands. Good hiding.” 

Doctor Sun slams the door as he leaves. 

“Thanks Detective,” John mumbles from under the desk. Nick sighs. 

“You’re lucky I don’t mind covering for you over the minor stuff, kid.” 

\--

Nick grumbles to himself as he pulls his jacket around himself. Damn kid has to run off to Goodneighbor because Percy knows not to sell him chems. Damn irritating son of a bitch who sticks himself to you and won’t let go. Damn actually wanting to make sure the idiot’s alright.

Nick’s used to slipping past the strongmen of the various dictators Goodneighbor’s had over the years. He finds John in the back of town, outside the Rexford, looking not too different from any other drifter.

“John.” 

“Heyyyy, detective. Whatcha in town at this time’f night for?” 

“You. Come on.” 

“Can’t a guy go on a mentats bender for one damn day?” 

“Not this guy. Come on. We’re going back to Diamond City.”

“Ugh, but I don’t  _ want _ to.” 

“John, you’re fifteen now. You’re gonna have to pick this shit up, figure out how to make your caps.”

“You sound so old school.”

“No one’s said that to me before,” Nick replies dryly.  “Come on.”

Nick pulls John to his feet. “Nick, d’you know what all this shit was used for in the old world?” 

“Hm?” 

“All the buildings. Was wondering.”

“Red light district.”

John barks out a laugh. “The more things change, huh. Hey, hey, have you ever told Moe Cronin whatever you remember about baseball? Cause it’s totally not what he says, right?”

“He wouldn’t believe me.” 

“What, you’re tellin’ me all those pretty, picture-perfect people in old world art and advertisements didn’ watch blood sport?” John asks, gasping in sarcastic surprise. “No. No way, Nicky. You’re bullshitting me.” 

“Alright, smartass.” the kid’s surprisingly clever, though. Maybe he’s never noticed. 

“What about all this other stuff here, what was it?” 

“That would be too much to explain, John. I’d have to talk to you all night to describe the whole of Boston. I never even saw some bits of it in the old world.” 

“That’s the point,” John says, with a little cheeky grin. “If you talk to me all night I don’t have to get a lecture from the family about the jet-tats. Is that what we should be calling it? No one’s invented a hybrid chem for it, not like bufftats. Then again. Getting crossfaded kinda rocks.”

“John…”

“Okay, okay, I know you don’t like the stuff, but come on. Dealing with my family blows, man, I gotta cope with it somehow. Getting high and forgetting all my problems ‘s as good a way as ever.” 

Nick’s just grateful he didn’t say Nicky again. 

“It’s too late to wake them anyway. They always expect you back in the morning and so I’ll get you there.” 

“What, gonna pay for another room at the Dugout for me?” John asks with a slight pout. “I think the Bobrov clan is getting sick of us. Dontcha have a spare bed? You don’t even sleep, you told me so!” 

“That’s not what I said,” Nick mutters, carrying on with his task at hand. “I  _ said _ I can sleep, but I don’t need to. It depends on if I  _ want _ to.”

“Well you can just not want to sleep tonight and I’ll borrow your bed so I don’t have to deal with Katyusha telling Vadim and Yefim to throw pond water on me to wake me up.”

“Hm. That woman doesn’t like you, does she.” 

“Neither do her sons. She says I’m taking up room that could go to outsiders and traders,” John whines. “Come onnn. Just one night.”

Nick sighs, pulling his hat down. “John, I really wish you’d learn how the world works for me.” 

“Whassat supposed to mean?” John asks, clearly struggling to sober up. 

Nick brushes it off. 

“If you really want to know, John, ask me seriously about it when you’re sober, alright? I’m not in the mood right now.” 

“Alright,” John says, backing off. “I’ll go to the Dugout. But in the morning, after I disappoint my family with the news I survived the night, I’m asking you what that means. Unlike getting drunk, jet-tats don’t make you forget.” John taps his head with a disfocused attempt at a sly grin. Nick hopes he’ll just forget about this by tomorrow morning once he pays off Katyusha Bobrov to let John sleep the chems off once again, and maybe this time to just shake him awake rather than use cold water. “Okay, Nicky?”

Nick sighs, pulling the teenager along behind him. “I hear you.”


	8. Privilege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick explains some basic facts to John, and the past starts to haunt him as he continues his work in Diamond City.
> 
> _Down here truth is what men believe,_   
>  _Wanted: Dead or Alive._
> 
> \--Orden Ogan, Down Here

Nick’s let down to hear John enter through the front door the next morning. 

“Nick? You in?”

“‘Round the corner,” Nick grumbles, standing upright with his notes in hand. “What do you want, John? And before you respond, can you leave the benders on hold for a while, being your personal chaperone isn’t my only responsibility and it doesn’t bring home the caps.”

John peers around the corner, responding to Nick’s comments with a cheeky grin on his bright face. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the weight off ya for a bit, I can figure something out, oh great and overworked detective. You got a minute or two?” 

“Maybe,” Nick says, almost wary, setting the files on his desk before sitting down and facing John. 

“Can you tell me what it was you were talkin’ about last night? About why you don’t want me to crash here after Goodneighbor runs?” 

Nick freezes in place for a heartbeat, then sighs, shuffling the folders to have something for his hands to do. 

“John…”

“You said you’d tell me, and I’m sober, promise. Didn’t even take any mentats to understand you better. Scout’s honor.” 

“The scouts don’t even exist anymore,” Nick mutters irritably, before changing the subject. “Fine. Alright. John, here’s the truth. The Great Green Jewel has a real...dark underbelly.” 

“Oh, now you sound like a detective,” John jokes, amusement with himself manifesting in a cheeky grin. 

“I’m serious. It took me thirty years to gain everyone’s trust, and even then, trust in this city is conditional, John.  _ Conditional  _ meaning it depends upon the fact that I remain palatable and nonthreatening. Since Roberts’ daughter left town, you’re the only person who’s gone beyond casual small talk to actually consistently be an annoyingly sociable pain in my side.” 

“That’s going in my customer testimonials, thanks.” 

“What I’m trying to say is, John, people are alright with a synth if it keeps to itself. Not if they think it’s... _ brainwashing _ one of their children into loving it-”

“He,” John interrupts Nick’s projection of the current gossip forcefully. “You aren’t an it, Nick, you’re a he, and- I’m here because I want to be. Because you’re pretty cool for an older dude. Because I give more than half a passing shit about you.” 

“I know that,” Nick says, chagrined, even though he didn’t and it was still pleasant to hear, and he’s going to be satisfied with that for a long time. 

“Screw what they think!” John exclaims, and Nick sighs, putting his head in one hand. 

“John. That is the  _ point _ , I literally can’t without losing everything I’ve built in this city.” 

“Why not?” John demands, not angry with Nick but more with the situation, a spark of defiance and rebellious, righteous anger flaring in his green eyes. “That’s why you never go out of your way to find me unless I spend too long in Goodneighbor? Why I gotta track you down myself? Why you never let me crash here?” 

“Yes, John. It is.” 

John’s shoulders drop, empathy in his eyes. “Aw, shit, Nick...I never thought about that. I’m sorry.” 

That’s not what the synth expected. He expected John to be mad, and to continue his tirade against their broken society because why can’t they grow to accept one man and let someone choose to hang out with him? 

He didn’t expect that John would worry for his feelings. 

“Nick, I- is it an obvious thing? Do they threaten you? Cause if they threaten you you could always tell Roberts, he’s still hanging on to the city and he adores you, I-”

Or be concerned about his safety. 

“No, John, nothing like that. It’s passive. I doubt anyone would notice if they weren’t the focus of it, and I doubt half of them know they’re doing it. They just do.” 

“Like what, Nick?” 

“Stares,” Nick comments. “They tend to watch. Not just for the detective gossip, but the old busted face and bad hand get a lotta stares. Like part of ‘em’s expecting me to be the next broken mask, like I’ve been playing the long game and they’re ready for it.” 

“...is it true you lost your hand to a deathclaw?” 

“Great off topic question, John.” 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s a rumor that got tossed around the schoolhouse for like, ages, and you mentioning it reminded me.”

“A deathclaw and a yao guai each took the biggest chunks off the skin,” Nick confirms, and then seeing John’s awe, he adds, “-not at the same time. Some other things probably have their own chunks, but those two get the credit.”

“You get em?” 

“Roasted up the yao guai for the satisfaction, sold it to a caravan who was running low on meat.”

“Didn’t even eat any?” 

“Few bites. Delicious for the victory, not much else for me.” 

“Man, I don’t get how anyone doesn’t like you.” Nick’s surprised by that, and it must show on his face. “-or doesn’t trust you,” John adds hurriedly. “I mean...you’ve been here long enough, you’ve had plenty of chance to do whatever you want. You’ve just been helping people this whole time, far back as anyone can say. Whatever the long game is, I don’t think it runs that long. And...man, fuck everyone who would still suspect you after you’ve been putting yourself at risk for this stupid, ungrateful city for what, fourty-some god damn years.”

“It’s less than that, John.”

“Whatever! That’s basically a Commonwealth lifetime, maybe two!”

“It’s not that big of a-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Nick,” John says. “You’re a pretty fucking big deal if you ask me.”

“But it’s not just you, John. And it’s alright, really. It’s just just how it has to be.” 

“But it shouldn’t have to,” John says, stunned, then falls silent. “God, Nick, if my bothering you had led someone to try and hurt you…”

“It wouldn’t.”

“I dunno, Myrna Sinclair’s pretty anti-synth.”

“Myrna is insane,” Nick replies firmly. “No one would stand behind her if she even tried-” 

John sighs, folding his arms. Nick raises an eyebrow, challenging. 

“Fine. Because you insist.”

Somehow, Nick feels that this conversation just pushed John to further disillusionment. 

Maybe these were things they shouldn’t have said.

\--

_ “Long Island iced tea, please. I’ve seen you around here before. Did you enjoy the show, Mr…”  _

_ “Detective. Nick Valentine.”  _

_ “Oh, a  _ **_detective._ ** _ Is it callous of me to say I hope you’re not here to question me?”  _

_ “I’m off-duty,” Nick says, raising his glass. A Manhattan.  _

_ “Oh, wonderful. Did you enjoy the show?”  _

_ “Most certainly. You have an amazing voice, miss…?” _

_ “Jennifer Lands. But feel free to call me Jenny, detective.”  _

_ “Jenny, then. You are an amazing performer. Best jazz in Chicago.”  _

_ Jenny preens a bit at that. Nick can’t blame her. Who wouldn’t?  _

_ “Miss Lands, may I pay for your drink?”  _

_ “What a gentlemen,” she purrs. “Feel free.”  _

_ They spend a few hours discussing the show and their lives, and as they exit together, Nick kisses the back of her hand even though it’s covered by elbow-length black gloves.  _

_ “Here’s my card, Miss Lands. If you ever...have need of me.”  _

_ She giggles. “I think I will pretty soon, Detective, even if it’s just for dinner.”  _

_ Nick raises his eyes to hers as she takes his card, with his work phone number and where he wrote his home phone number on the back--  _

_ And five years of love and loss, laughter and sorrow, joy and disappointment flash across her face before the next thing Nick sees in her expression is shock as blood starts to dribble out of her mouth from a wound, and Jenny Lands falls to the ground, dead of three gunshots to the back.  _

_ Tires squeal. Nick’s stomach turns, hard.  _

\--

-and he wakes up. 

Nick rubs his face with his good hand, trying to get the memories in his nightmare out of his mind. It’s been so long since he had a nightmare like that. What on earth’s gotten into him? 

Yes, alright, he thinks about the memories he has of finding Jenny dead and knowing,  _ knowing _ that Eddie Winter, Boston mobster, was the murderer. Yes, it haunts him every day that Winter never went to jail, and that he knows Winter is out there, he just hasn’t had that final push to  _ do it _ , to get his hands on that bastard and get himself some closure. 

Maybe he needs to get moving on that soon. Then again, Winter’s lasted quite some time, if he comes out, Nick can deal with Winter himself. 

Besides. Eddie Winter is the problem of the past. Past-Nick’s ghost is the one who wants to deal with him right away. Nick has to think practically. Problems of the present include: 

People like Myrna Sinclair, who glare at him as he passes with a lit cigarette in his mouth. They whisper as he passes, don’t trust the synth, don’t risk your back like that, no one knows if he’ll stab you in it given the chance. As he tilts his chin up defiantly and pretends it doesn’t get under his synthetic skin. (Even though it really truly does.) 

The case of the day, someone’s runaway lover or lost sibling or some such same old same old, the papers piling up in Nick’s office from old memories and mysteries, everything written down so that he doesn’t forget a detail, so that he doesn’t lose his touch. Otherwise, he loses things, loses old memories. He hangs on to the memory of how he got to be here, in Diamond City, but the details start to fade. Was Alanna’s dress prewar, or patchwork? Green, or blue? Laundered?

And John McDonough, vibrant, defiant, rebellious, clever and kind. Foolhardy enough to ally himself with the synth of Diamond City without concern as to his own safety or what others think, and principled enough to want to make Nick a defense, to present his rebellion to his own kind to prove his loyalty. Nick hasn’t met a person like John in the entire Commonwealth. Perhaps the end of the world needs someone like him.


	9. Mankind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diamond City politics heat up. Nick gains an assistant-- hires is a strong word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Under my hat I know the lines are all imagined,_  
>  _A fact of life I must impress on my little girls_   
> _I know my place amongst the creatures in the pageant_  
>  _And there are flowers in the garbage,_  
>  _And a skull under your curls._
> 
> \--The Shins, Port of Morrow

Patrick McDonough is thirty-six and his brother is twenty-nine when the news comes out.

“Mankind for McDonough,” Nick mutters disapprovingly to himself, looking at the beat-up poster, holding a half-smoked cigarette between the metal appendages of his bad hand. 

He knew there wasn’t something right about that kid. 

John storms up, holding one of the posters as well. “Nick! Did you see this crap? He told us over dinner last night and I-” 

Yeah, Nick can smell the whiskey and mentats on John’s breath. Alright. “We have to do something about this, Nick, it’s- it’s ridiculous, it’s insane, it’s-”

“Not going to work,” Nick cuts him off, even though it’s clear Nick doesn’t believe his own reassurances. “People are smarter than this. They have to be.” 

Unbidden, Nick thinks of a case he had in Chicago before the war. A Chinese family. Even he wondered if they had ties to the war, but they could never prove it. That didn’t stop the poor people from being reviled by their own community. 

For years before they had claimed to be Korean. 

Nick sighs, taking a drag of his cigarette. To tell John the truth would be to say people are panicky animals who fear a threat from any unknown. That he wouldn’t put it past them to close ranks and follow through. 

But it’s the faith he feels he has to have in the basic goodness of all people- like how he saw a receptionist at the Chicago PD slip Mrs. Zheng some cash and give her a meaningful look that Nick interpreted as an apology for those around her. 

“It’s not going to stick, John. People are too good, in the end, to just let things happen without helping in their own little way.” 

“How do you  _ know _ ?” John asks, and Nick thinks of the tears in Xinyi Zheng’s eyes as she accepted the money. Nick now has an idea of how she felt, because he feels it when John speaks up for him to others. 

A little less alone. 

“I’ve seen it.” 

\--

“Bastards,” Nick mutters to himself later that afternoon, though, tearing a poster down from his door. Whose passive aggressive gesture was that? Rain beats down hard on the corrugated metal that works its way into every building in Diamond City, a mix of metal and concrete. 

Nick shuts the door behind himself and begins picking up some of the papers and scrap left on his desk. As he does, a young girl with her jacket pulled up against the wind runs in. Nick sighs, expecting another case. Instead, she removes the jacket, revealing a pink scarf she clearly holds in some regard, a torn skirt, and sneakers, and extends her hand enthusiastically. 

“Mr Valentine? My name is Ellie Perkins.”

“Detective,” Nick corrects out of habit as he shakes with his good hand. 

“Oh, of course, sorry. I, um...well, you visit Goodneighbor a lot, and I heard you and my mom were on good terms at one point- after she passed my brother Charlie said I shouldn’t come, but…”

“Alanna Roberts Perkins?”

“Yep!” 

“Oh, good. At least that memory’s still working,” Nick says dryly. 

“...so I was wondering if you needed help. I can make my own caps, all I ask for is room and board. I can help you organize and take visitors while you’re out. After all, everyone in town has at least heard of you, you must miss a lot of people running in and out to work, right?” 

She’s right. “I suppose so, although most of them don’t mention it.” 

Ellie beams. “See? Anyone can use an assistant.” 

“I have some spare furniture upstairs.” 

“I may need some help to move it, but I can pull my own weight otherwise, Detective Valentine.” 

“I can believe that,” Nick replies, looking at the pipe pistol shoved into the waistband of Ellie’s skirt. She seems flattered that he gives her that kind of credit. 

“Mom and dad tended to say that one shouldn’t meet their heroes. But, you know, I’m not very good at staying out of trouble.” 

“Then I think you’re going to fit right in at the agency, Ellie,” Nick comments. “You need food for the night? A change of clothes? The walk from Goodneighbor in this rain can’t’ve been fun.”

“I got a noodle cup from the protectron that took over the bar,” she replies cheerfully. “He makes some mean noodles, even in the rain. Have you noticed he only says one phrase?” 

“Yeah. I think he’s a little busted.” 

“It’s kinda cute, if you ask me,” Ellie says, running a hand through her damp hair as she does to fix its style. 

“I suppose so. Can’t say I noticed, since I never really drop by.”

“Oh. Right. Not even for fun?” 

“Never thought of doing it for fun before.” 

“Now you’re making me want to go back out in the rain to get you some of Takahashi’s noodle cups, detective.” 

Nick snorts with laughter. Ellie Perkins is a very animated young woman, and with a great deal of will and charm to simply enter and convince him to let her help him. 

\--

The next time John busts in as always, Ellie is sitting at her own desk, writing something.

“Woah, Nick. You hire an assistant?” 

“Sort of. Ellie Perkins, John McDonough.” 

“As in-?”

“Yeah, and I hate that guy,” John says with a sigh. “I was dropping by to say hi, but now I’m gonna talk to your secretary, Nicky.” 

“Whatever.” 

“You look familiar, Mr. McDonough.”

“Ah, please. John. And where’re you from, from around here?” 

“Goodneighbor, actually.”

“Ah, that explains it. I drift through there once every few weeks and wait for Nick to come drag me back to the great green jewel.” 

“Much to my chagrin,” Nick mutters, and John grins like the cat that got the canary. 

“So we’ve probably crossed paths once or twice without having a clue.” 

“I see, I see. And what is it that a boy from the jewel of the Commonwealth has of interest in Goodneighbor?” 

John barks out a laugh. “Sister, please, if you really did live in Goodneighbor you wouldn’t be asking me.”

“Oh, I knew you meant trouble, I was just curious what sort.” 

For some reason, the way John and Ellie click fast and chat smoothly satisfies Nick, even as the tones in their voices that sound like a form of casual flirtation make him want to snap his beat-up pre-war pencil in half. 

\--

“It’s not rational,” Nick says firmly to Katyusha Bobrov, mother of twins. She sniffs. He sighs and continues. “Everyone shouldn’t just be allowed to say ‘humanity first except Nick Valentine.’ What’s stopping them from turning on me once the ghouls leave?”

“No one is talking about you because where would city be without you.”

“And where would we be without the ghouls,” Nick shoots back. “They’ve done as much for Diamond City as I have. Maybe more. No, I’m not endorsing McDonough.” 

He sighs, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it under the toes of his dress shoes. “Just think about it, Katyusha. I’m not gonna be happy being anyone’s token friend.” 

Indeed, he’s seen how this rhetoric scares the ghouls. Makes them stick closer to the shadows, avoid people they once called friend and neighbor. 

And the whole mess seems to be destroying John from the inside out. Nick will be glad to be rid of this crap when McDonough crashes and burns. 

It’s hard to argue questions of being alive and humanity to people who barely believe irradiated humans are alive in the same way they are. Nick knows the ghouls- most of them only go by one name anymore, unless they’re fresh. Some of them take wild new names, or did some time ago. Cyan, Jacey, Moran. They’re their own little subculture to Diamond City, and it’s ridiculous to think things wouldn’t be just different but better without them. 

In fact, Nick thinks it’d probably be worse. 

But the people he’s known for so long, Katyusha Bobrov isn’t the only one, are interested in what McDonough has to sell. 

He’d better not be eating his reassurances to John on election day. 

Otherwise he’s gonna be mad.

\--

When Ellie gets up first the next morning, she wakes him, rather calmly for the situation, to explain that yes, someone left a switchblade buried in their door, and would he like for her to arrange for repairs? 

Nick sighs. This must be about how he was talking to people yesterday. 

“Yes, Ellie. Go ahead and find someone. Thank you.”

Nick holds the knife so the point rests against his bad hand- no point in ruining the good one too. 

Someone in Diamond City is trying to intimidate him out of talking. 

“Nick!” John pants, bursting in as always. “I ran into Ellie at surplus and she told me what was going on. Are you, like, okay? Did someone try to scrap you? Is Ellie really gonna fix the door herself?"

“She was planning on fixing it her- never mind. It was just the knife, John.”

“Yeah, but that’s a threat, Nicky. What are you gonna do?”

“Threats are meant to keep the target silent,” Nick muses, spinning the knife in his good hand, then catching it and offering it, hilt-first to John. “So I’m going to take it as a sign that I’m saying something someone doesn’t want people to hear. I’m going to keep talking.” 

“Do you need a bodyguard?” John asks, serious, and Nick snorts. 

“I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. Besides, I think we would already know if someone wanted to scrap me. And Ellie lives here now, she can keep an eye out for things at night.” 

“You should switch beds with her,” John says, sounding almost paranoid, voice low. “Don’t tell anyone, mind you. But if someone tries to go for you, and everyone knows you usually take the ground floor one cause it’s right by your desk, and what then…”

“Point taken, John. I’ll consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot convince me for one moment that the downstairs bed isn't Nick's, because his notes about the mysterious stranger are there-- and the upstairs one has more human comforts that Nick doesn't per se need.


	10. Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The election ends. Nick and Ellie make do. John severs (most of) his family ties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, there's so many elements in this chapter I really like, holy cow, we're in the good place now, team. 
> 
> Author commentary, though, reserved until the end so that you can enjoy it without spoilers of what's to come.
> 
>  _I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour,_  
>  _But heaven knows I'm miserable now._  
>  _I was looking for a job and then I found a job,_  
>  _And heaven knows, I'm miserable now._
> 
> \-- The Smiths, Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

The worst comes to pass. 

It shouldn’t, and Nick prayed with his synthetic heart it wouldn’t, but it does. It’s not fair. 

Patrick gives his victory speech. Nick stays inside. John cries softly in Nick’s office chair. 

“This can’t be happening. It can’t.”

Nick lets out a breath, slow and steady. “It’s too late to regret. We have to figure out what we’re going to do.” 

“There’s no way they’re going to do this for real, right?” 

Nick pauses, brow furrowing. Night starts to fall over Diamond City. Any smart ghoul will stay inside. 

“I...don’t know, John.”

“I can’t believe it. That fucking bastard.” 

“I wish it hadn’t happened too. But there’s not anything we can do anymore.” 

“You’ve got to be wrong,” John says. They both turn their heads to the door. 

“Hey, Nick, what’d you do with Ellie?” 

“She’s getting stims from Percy. I told her to be home before dark. Not a good night to stay out late. Especially not for her.” John gives him a questioning look, and Nick clarifies. “Because she works for me.”

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, Ellie rushes in, carrying a battered cardboard box full of spare parts and medicine. 

“Did I keep you waiting for too long, Nick? I had to argue the price of some of the stuff down with Percy to cover it, but--” 

“No, no, Ellie, just glad you’re safe.” 

Ellie frowns unhappily. “Things are tense out there. Everyone’s trying to get the ghouls to move out faster, but they’re moving at a pretty good rate. They’re not even required to leave until tomorrow.” 

“What?” John says, horrified. “I have to go out there, I have to-” 

“Wait, John,” Nick says, grabbing the young man’s arm. John wrenches himself away. 

“I don’t care if it’s not safe, Nick. Everything that’s happening out there, it’s my brother’s stupid mess that he did to get back at me because he’s always been a little anti-ghoul and anti- _ you _ and he thinks that taking down anyone and anything I like’s gonna be my comeuppance. It’s because of me these people are getting hurt. I have to help.”

Nick sighs, and lowers his hand. “As long as you understand the risk.”

“I’ve never understood it more.” John pulls himself up to his full height- which, especially compared to Nick, is a little on the short side. 

“John.”

“Yes?” 

Nick sighs tiredly. His affection for this kid is going to get him scrapped. “If there’s anything you need…” 

He can tell John’s pleased with that. “You still have most of your credit. Do you mind talking some of the people down? Or trying?” 

“I’ll do my best,” Nick says, grabbing his jacket. “Ellie, stay inside until morning, got it? Keep the door locked. I have my keys. Do you need a-” 

Ellie opens the drawer of her desk and sets a ten-millimeter pistol on the top. 

“-perfect. Thank you, Ellie.” 

“Be safe, Nick. It’s a war zone out there, and not the daily kind.” 

\--

Ellie’s not wrong in her assessment. Diamond City has always been one of the safest places in the Commonwealth, high stadium walls protecting its residents from outside threats- ferals, raiders, super-mutants. The walls had resisted more than one nuclear explosion, even small ones. 

John stalks off to the stands, furious, and Nick watches over the scene.

Tonight, it feels like the city is on the verge of tearing itself apart. Having lived there for nearly fifty years, it unnerves Nick. 

John returns and takes charge. Nick stands by, one hand on his pipe revolver, and keeps watch. 

“No luck with McDonough?”

“Nope,” John mutters, popping the p-sound, tone dripping with bitterness.

“I hope you have a plan,” Nick mutters. John nods.  

“Don’t worry.” John raises his voice, so those having to leave the city can hear. “I’m gonna make sure you all get to Goodneighbor safe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Closest settlement. Best bet for now. And I know the way.” John takes a steadying breath. “Once you get there, you can crash the night, and try an’ figure out what to do. I’m sorry I can’t help more.” 

John lets the crowd move in front of him and informs them that he’ll catch up with them at the gate. He turns to Nick, and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Guess this is goodbye.”

“Not planning on coming back?” Nick asks, a little surprised. 

“I don’t think I can. Not after seein’ all of this, and not after talking to Pat.” 

“...what did he say, John?” 

John grimaces, rocking back and forth a bit on his heels. “That he finally did it.” 

Nick’s shoulders drop. "No..."

“Nick, I can’t come back like this, to live here, thinkin’ about how these people’d turn on anyone for more space and a sense of false security. I understand if you’re gonna stay. You’re unique, Nick, it’d take so long for you to pick up a place you’re at least tolerated anywhere else. M’sorry it’s gonna end like this.” 

“You make it sound like you’re dying. You’re not,” Nick replies, pensive. “In this city you’ve always been in McDonough’s shadow. Maybe it’s time you find a place you don’t need to be.”

John smiles sadly, but it reaches his eyes, showing genuine appreciation for Nick’s acceptance. 

“You’re one-of-a-fuckin-kind, Nick Valentine. Don’t forget it. Wish I had more time with you, maybe then-” John shakes his head to himself. “Awh, c’mon, no coulda-woulda-shouldas. I hope I see you again, Nick.”

With that, John McDonough ties his hair back into a tighter ponytail, and jogs after the crowd. 

Nick Valentine chain-smokes all the way back to the agency, lets Ellie know he’s safe and sound, and doesn’t enter rest mode until dawn starts breaking over the stands. Ellie wakes back up around the same time and, noticing the detective doing what could be described as dozing, steps out to go get herself breakfast and locks the door behind herself.

\--

John almost forgets the night before when he wakes up in Goodneighbor. 

Then he remembers that Nick has never let him stay a full night in Goodneighbor before, just drags him home with a new stash of chems that he  _ knows _ the synth has a distaste for, but has never brought up. 

Then last night hits him, and John really wishes he could go back to sleep, except forever this time. 

Jesus, he did all of that, including almost telling Nick Valentine that John thinks he’s pretty damn cute, honorable, and kind.

In other words, admitting that town fuckup John McDonough has a crush on the most straight-edge guy in Diamond City. 

_ Fuck. _

John sits up with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He’s going to have to figure out how to survive in Goodneighbor, now. 

\-- 

“Hey.” 

John looks up. There’s a girl, nineteen or so, probably Goodneighbor by birth. She’s smoking. 

Damn, are the kids starting later these days? He’s probably started before she did, certainly.

She already looks pretty tough to him. She drops the cigarette, then looks him in the eyes, her gaze steely and grey-green. 

“McDonough, right?” 

“...yeah.” 

“Fahrenheit.” she pauses, then sighs, as if prodded by something. “Listen. I know you don’t know me, but I know you.”

“Would ya care to explain?” 

“Yeah. Goodneighbor’s an attraction for all sorts. Especially men from the great green jewel lookin’ for a night off with a pretty woman.” 

“You’re not here to collect alimony from me, are you?” John asks dryly. “Because that would really make my week worse.” 

“You wish. Nah, dumbass, I’m talking about your dad, McDonough senior. Or, I guess, our dad. If you’re gonna be staying I figured you should know.” 

“Oh.” John pauses, speechless. “Had no idea.” 

Fahrenheit snorts. “Figured not.” 

“You got proof of that claim? Not that I’m fine replacing my shitty brother with a cool punk teen half-sister, but-” 

Fahrenheit pulls out a holotape. “Already thought of it.” 

John accepts. 

“For the record, you’re never gonna call me by this name ever, but he mentions it in there. My birth name’s Farrah. Farrah Macentire. Or Farrah McDonough, if you argue the point.” 

“Gotcha. Fahrenheit.” 

Fahrenheit tilts her head slyly. “I was heading down the merc path til you turned up on my doorstep. I can appreciate anyone who gives the prissy assholes in the city the middle finger. So if you want a family discount, track me down, got it?” 

“Shocked to hear someone in Goodneighbor offering to help with little reward potential,” John says, tone light. Fahrenheit laughs. 

“I’m making an exception for ya. Don’t get too used to it, now. I’m sayin’ I’ll give you one favor if you need it. Further help’s at my discretion. Capiche?” 

“You got it, sister,” John replies cheerfully. “Too bad ol’ Pat junior won’t even know he’s been replaced.” 

\--

“Stay outta trouble, John,” is what Fahrenheit says as she claps him on her shoulder on her way out the front gate, lugging an incendiary minigun she modified herself that’s two times her size. 

He’s known her for three months and he’s never been so damn proud of someone. 

He settles in on some boxes as a makeshift seat, popping some mentats into his mouth. He’s in for a laid-back weekend, by the looks of things. Farrah’s got a job to take care of, he’s got a Goodneighbor Saturday to watch over. 

The sun starts to set over the horizon faster than he thinks it should, and before he knows it, the mentats high has mostly worn off and he can hear the drag of drunken guard feet on the floor. 

Ugh. 

John sits up as the mercenaries that keep Goodneighbor mostly-safe roll in, drunk and probably high on chems and most definitely here to be pricks. 

He hates it, but Farrah’s usually here to hide him.  

“On your feet,” one of them calls, and John groans softly to himself, dragging himself up. He notices that one of the other drifters is moving a little slow. 

“Caps! Now!” one of the guardsmen orders. Dammit, Farrah gave him that money to last him through the weekend. Some of it isn’t technically on his person, but at least half of it is. John digs a handful of caps out of his pocket.

“That all of them?” the guard asks, jabbing a gun into his face. “Jeez, yeah, it is, I swear.” 

John’s been living in Goodneighbor for...a while now. Admittedly, his sister brings in most of the caps to keep him physically alive, but the events of the exodus took a mental toll. Most days he’s not really in a mood to do anything but sleep or get high, and that only makes Farrah so irritated. She’s been pushing him a little more lately. He appreciates the tolerance from her. 

He’s not quite sure the exact number of months, but he knows in that time Farrah’s hit her twenties. He bought her new armor to modify off of a caravan. 

John’s drawn back to the present by the sound of one of the guards kicking the drifter he saw earlier, who was slow to get up. 

“Don’t move,” guard two growls at any of them who even think of intervening. 

“I don’t have any caps,” the drifter yelps. “I swear. I got mugged by raiders yesterday, I barely made it out alive, I-” 

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” guard one growls, before bashing the poor man with his gun. 

His head hits the pavement and cracks open. 

John feels bile rise in his throat, and looks at his shoes until they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAHRENHEIT! I was really excited to get this part of my interpretation out there, and I wanted to split the difference between the two vaguely established notions of who she is to John. 
> 
> To me, having her be his until-now-unknown half-sister justifies them having a close, have-each-other's-backs relationship. It would also explain why their proper relationship isn't defined in-game, since it seems Hancock keeps his former identity on the down-low. And the fact that they formed a relationship as adults (in this theory) makes it easier, at least for me, to believe that if you side with Bobbi No-Nose he's way more capable of understanding and/or rationalizing it away. He didn't force her to stick around and work with him, she chose to, and everyone dies out here, one way or another. 
> 
> ANYWAY I should really keep further discussion of this to my tumblr, but that's the part I'd be most interested to hear thoughts about. I've seen a lot of interpretations that aren't entirely sure how to reconcile their relationship, and this is my personal take. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this Author's note, if you did, and putting up with my headcanon ramble!


	11. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John McDonough dies, and someone entirely new remakes himself from the ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more poetic chapter from me, and the end of this short interlude of just what's happening with John- we'll be right back to Nick next chapter as he meets the post-metamorphosis John Hancock. 
> 
> I'd like to slap a slight warning on this one for alluded-to suicide ideation, but it's left fairly vague. 
> 
> _We built this world together,_  
>  _We lived in it together,_  
>  _And shared the fun together,_   
> _Bore the sorrows all together._  
>  _We'll win the fight together,_  
>  _We'll lose the game together,_  
>  _Greet the heroes all together,_  
>  _And forever we'll remember._
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, The Day

After witnessing what is, even by wasteland standards, a murder, John stumbles back to where Farrah keeps all of the things too valuable for them to risk leaving out in the open. 

She scavenged some kind of chem before, out of one of the pre-war labs. She was paid to go in there to pick up something else, and curious, she brought it home. It’s always intrigued John, but Farrah pointed out that knowing what pre-war companies did with their tech, there’s a high chance it’d kill him. Or that it packed enough rads to turn him into a ghoul for good. 

Death or ghoulification. Right now he can’t bring himself to care one damn bit. 

It’s encased in a syringe, a little like psycho jet, which is one of John’s rarer trips, actually. It glows a sickly, radioactive sort of green. 

He locks Farrah’s stuff back up with care and sits out back, chem syringe slightly hidden so he can think for a moment.

He thinks about Nick, how god-damn disappointed Nick must be, how he hasn’t been by Goodneighbor in months, not that John knows. Has he been avoiding John, or avoiding the town? Or avoiding the reminders of the relationship John couldn’t help but screw up, mistake that he is. Nick deserves better than this. 

He thinks about Farrah, how she deserves better than to have someone like him who can’t find the purpose or even the strength to do anything taking her caps and rations. She acts so tough, but she looks out for her own, and he has no idea why she’s started counting him as that. He’s too much dead weight for her to even bring along on her little excursions. 

He takes the syringe and plunges it into his arm. He can’t say for sure what causes him to do it. Were he to discuss it in retrospect, all he’d be able to do is shrug and tell the one truth.

_ Why not? _

\--

Holy shit, it hurts a lot, like fire on every part of his body, but for a split second he understands the meaning of life and other secrets of the universe. He sees stars forming and dying and exploding outwards across the sky until they fade to black. He sees life growing and dying everywhere- human, ghoul, supermutant, synth. They all look just about the same once put in the ground, don’t they?

He’s going to forget half of it when he wakes up, but it’s a high unlike any other. 

\-- 

John wakes up in the old state house, the one at the center of Goodneighbor. Vic, the warlord behind those guards John saw, uses the top floor as his own personal fisher kingdom. He generally doesn’t like people coming in to the lower floors. How the hell did he get in here? What on earth was that high?

He’s lying on his back, looking up at something up and to the right. 

It looks like a jacket.

John sits up slowly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He feels...well, different. 

He looks at his hands. 

They’re different, now- like while he was out, layers of flesh had been burned off by some sort of heavenly light. Or maybe hellfire. 

But he’s not stupid, he knows ghoulification when he sees it. It says a lot about John McDonough that the first thing he thinks is  _ aw, man, I actually kinda liked having my hair _ when he touches his head and it’s mostly smooth, save for a few clumps of blonde curls coming out slow. He brushes the rest of the hair away. No point in mourning that stuff, even if it made him look pretty good. 

John cleans himself up. The “burns” are mostly healed by now, and he doesn’t feel any aftereffects. He’s just the same. 

...but, he thinks, looking at the display case that had drawn his attention,  _ I don’t need to be the same person anymore. _

The display case hasn’t been touched because it holds nothing of value to scavvers- just old clothes, probably older than most everyone, even the pre-war ghouls. The glass is cracked, just enough that with one tiny push, it’ll fall to the ground and John can reach the gear inside. 

John looks at a grimy plaque at the bottom. 

_ Clothes of John Hancock. _

_ b.1737 d. 1793. _

Wasteland history education isn’t great, John's not entirely sure what the revolutionary war was really “about,” but he knows that name was once that of a revolutionary. He puts one hand on the glass. 

The glass creaks. 

John thinks, for a minute, about all the things that make Goodneighbor unsafe for the people he cares about. The other drifters. Poor families. Working people. Farrah. Himself. 

He comes to the same realization that he did that time before, in Diamond City. 

_ I can’t just think someone else will do it. I’m someone. I’ll do it myself. _

John pushes his hand through the glass. It shatters harmlessly around the case.

The jacket. He’s going to reinvent himself, and the jacket is calling to him as part of his reinvention. His rebirth. 

John pulls out the jacket. He’s gonna look pretty damn good in this thing. 

But first things first. He’s not John McDonough anymore. That’s the whole point. He’s changing himself, starting over, as someone who’s never going to even think of being idle in the face of tyranny ever again. 

What’s a good name, or title for someone like that? 

Oh, right. 

_ John Hancock. _

He’s going to need to update Farrah on his brilliant new idea.

\--

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, John,” Farrah says. John-  _ Hancock- _ grins, spreading his arms. 

“I dunno, I think I can make a pretty charismatic leader. You think you can gear up the drifters to launch a surprise assault?”

“You being charismatic doesn’t mean you’re just gonna take some daytripper, right? Because that shit doesn’t make you any good in a fight.” 

“Fahr, come on, have some faith in me! People don’t want to put up with that bastard Vic anymore, right? Gotta give them someone to fight behind to replace him.” 

Farrah pauses, still leaning on her minigun. “Okay, I’ll give you that. That’s a fair point. But John-”

“Hancock!” 

“-the rest of this is also straight up insane, you know that right?” 

“No, no, come on, Fahr, listen to it properly. It’s classic guerrilla warfare. We draw his guards into a location, cut off their escapes, and take them out. Then we won’t have anything standing between us and the big bastard himself.” 

Farrah pinches the bridge of her nose. “Strategically, it makes sense,  _ yes _ , but-” 

“What I’m hearing is that means we could totally pull this off.” 

“That’s the opposite of what I mean.” 

“I’m gonna need gear, Fahr.” 

Farrah sighs. “You get a switchblade, one shotgun, and I’m finding you some ballistic fiber for that damn jacket. You’re gonna get torn the hell apart in that ridiculous fuckin’ getup before I can even reach for Ashmaker.”

“Love you too, sis!” 

“If you get me killed for your weird little jet daydream, I’m making sure you go straight to hell.”

\--

Farrah gets him a gun, sure, but most of what he gets to the others are simpler sorts. Boards Farrah collects from the supermutants that infest the routes through downtown, lead pipes from crumbling buildings. The strongest of Hancock’s little militia get knives and knuckles she borrows from raiders who don’t need them anymore. 

And she has to be careful. Vic’s goons are watching, and they’ll get more than suspicious if they see her bringing back too many weapons at once. So she straps knives to her bare legs under her pants, pretends the boards are for construction not weapons, and keeps the lead pipes in her sleeves where she can. 

And soon enough, Hancock and Fahrenheit have built a small army. 

“To be clear, John. I’m not going to step in with Ashmaker until you take out the guards at least. But I don’t think you’ll need any help with Vic himself. I ain’t backing you until you prove to me you’re worth it.” she smirks at him. “You already expended your one use of the family discount.” 

“Ah, I won’t need another one. Just you watch, sister.” Hancock pulls down the hat he also adopted from the display case that fateful mid-day. “...everything’s about to change in Goodneighbor. Ain’t that right?”

\--

In the weeks leading up to the actual revolt, John had debated. Gun or knife, for Vic? Should he make it quick and easy on himself, or have the tyrant who ruled Goodneighbor know what it is to die slowly, bleeding out on the floor, like so many others did under his orders? He debated over it for a while, not sure of what he would prefer. 

In the end, Hancock ended things between Vic and Goodneighbor with a bullet. Farrah didn’t even have to lift a finger to help him.

“You okay, John?” she asks, after a moment. The ghoul sighs, rolling his neck and shoulders. 

“Yeah. Just thinking about how all that blood’s gonna be a bitch to get off my floor.” With that, Hancock strides out to the balcony. The noise, the blood, it’s brought people out. Hancock shoves the body over, and it falls into a clearing in the crowd. Hancock almost doesn’t have anything to say for himself, then he feels himself fill with resolve. 

He raises one fist and practically roars his statement of purpose out, with enough force to, he hopes, startle the selfish away from  _ his _ town,  _ his _ home. “Of the people! For the people!” 

He thinks they can hear the cheering all the way over in Diamond City. He thinks, oh yes, even Nick Valentine can hear right now what he’s done. Appreciate what he’s started here. 

He heads back inside, confidently tugging on his jacket to adjust it. “It’s good to be the boss, Fahr.”

Things are going to change in Goodneighbor. And Hancock’s going to make them.


	12. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Valentine goes to Goodneighbor, and meets someone familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...but not too familiar, but not too not familiar. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that Hancock interlude- the story's moving back to Nick, now. That section happened because, while the fic belongs to Nick overall, I realized that in the moment, promoting Hancock to the protagonist for a section had a lot more to write about. We know what happened, but that's why it needs a bit more flavor. 
> 
> Anyway, in the upcoming chapters, several years are spanned (dammit, another thing I should have made clearer in text. Fuck me.) and John and Nick ally up for things to come. 
> 
> _Since you moved away,_   
>  _I've walked past your vacant apartment almost every day._   
>  _When you moved away,_   
>  _You left this town with such an empty space._
> 
> \--Death Cab for Cutie, You Moved Away

Ah, Goodneighbor. 

Nick hasn’t been around here in a while- he doesn’t have the heart to run into anyone from the City, or from that night. He wonders often if John made the right decision in leaving the city. He's been spending his time to the west, out among the settlers for their own jobs and problems. He considers not returning to Diamond City, sending Ellie a letter and telling her so. 

Then he remembers that John McDonough didn’t want him to throw away the life he had built in Diamond City. And he had honored that wish.

Nick chain smokes all along the day’s walk to the small shantytown carved out of the streets around Boston’s Old State House. 

He doesn’t want to be here.  _ Let’s get this over with. _

Nick pushes open the door in the wall that keeps the entrance of Goodneighbor safe from the outside. 

Everything looks different. So different. It’s like the place has been infused with hope and light. Whatever happened while he was gone, clearly it was positive for the town. Had he missed some good news?

There’s a girl waiting at the gate, holding a cigarette in her fingers, leaning on a minigun almost twice her size. Her hair looks freshly messed with, styled into a badly-cut bob. Almost like someone with little experience did it for her, and was trying to dial in a look she wanted. She’s probably trying not to think about how not-so-good it looks. Oh, well, young adulthood is a trial- Nick’s trying to push memories of old Nick’s god-awful pubescent mustache out of his mind.

“Nick Valentine?” 

“Yes?” Nick asks, wary. The girl flicks her cigarette to the ground with a sigh, relieved, as though she was told to wait for him. 

“Come with me? The mayor wants to see you.” 

“Vic?” 

“Nah,” she says, putting the minigun on her back. Her strength is a miracle, Nick thinks. “Hancock.” 

_ Hancock? _

\--

When Nick sees the ghoul, he almost doesn’t recognize who he’s looking at. But Hancock spreads his arms, grinning, expression twisting the scarred flesh.

“Nicky!”

Nick pauses. The voice sounds familiar under the ravages of ghoulification. Who would recognize him, call him a nickname he generally disapproves of...Nick then squints with confusion. No way. “...John?”

“Hey, I thought you’d forgot about me!” Hancock exclaims with a grin. “But you are a detective, aint’cha? I figured I’d reinvent myself in this here town. In fact, we’re reinventing the town while we’re at it. Figured I’d make it friendly to my favorite clockwork dick, too.” 

“It’s synth detective,” Nick replies reflexively. “What on earth happened to you?” 

“Bit of chems, bit of rads, who’s counting? The long and the short of it is, we killed Vic, Goodneighbor’s my town now, and I make the rules.” 

“And here I was, getting the idea that this wasn’t gonna be a meeting where I have to hear another ‘watch your step’ lecture from another Commonwealth head of state. Really, John, I expected better of you.”

“Aw, have faith in me. That’s not what this is about. It’s me telling you that my town may as well be your town! In the new Goodneighbor? People can do what they want, unless it’s hurting others. And I know you’re a terminal do-gooder, so anyone who’s running from you ain’t gonna be so lucky out here anymore. Get it? Not even the watch’s allowed to stand between you’n a suspect.” 

“That’s...surprisingly kind of you, John.”

“I do my best. And it’s Hancock, now.” 

“And the outfit?”

“The clothes make the man, right? People need a revolutionary out here. Just like Diamond City needs a detective.” 

“...I suppose I can’t talk,” Nick mutters, looking down at his badly-patched jacket. 

“You got business? Wouldn’t wanna keep you from your important work.” 

Nick pauses, then thinks about how the past few months have been. “Business can wait. I want to know how the hell you got here and what you’ve been doing with the place. The effect’s visible. Even KLE-O seems more upbeat. And it’s hard to find a happy assaultron.”

Hancock laughs. “And she was the one criticizing us for taking out Vic’s boys without guns! Oh, I gotta talk to that old metal bird. One more business thing, ‘fore I get to show you what we’re doing with the place. Nick, Fahrenheit. Fahrenheit, Nick Valentine. Fahr’s been keeping me steady the past year.” 

“Six months, John.”

“Shit, has it only been six months? Damn. Six months. She’s my baby sister on dad’s side. You can trust her to give you a hand with whatever you need if I’m busy. Right Fahr?” 

“Yep,” Fahrenheit replies dryly. “He never shut up about you for the first three months. You and your assistant...Ellie, right? She doing ok? Saw her around here before.”

Hancock perks up. “Ellie! How is she?” 

“Still great at her job, of course. I’ll tell her to come home and visit more, I’m sure you two will keep a good eye on her.”

“Hey, Goodneighbor’s not gonna be so bad a place to live anymore. Ellie’s welcome here anytime as one of ours.” 

“Good to hear that,” Nick says dryly. “Let me take care of something first.”

“You want drinks in the Third Rail when you’re done?” 

“That...sounds good, Jo-- Hancock. I think we have a bit of catching up to do.” 

And here Nick Valentine was worried about coming back to Goodneighbor. 

\--

After the coup, and after Nick’s first visit, travel between Diamond City and Goodneighbor becomes even more commonplace, even more accepted than it was before. Nick finds himself along the paths John McDonough took for cheap, easy chems every other week back in the 2270s more than once a week. 

Things become normal, or as close as the Commonwealth gets to it. Daytime walks, evening walks, hell, even just-past-dark walks that one couldn’t’ve wanted to do before.  

Once in a while, Nick ends up having to stay in Goodneighbor for the night- for a case, for a chat with the residents of the Memory Den. One of the town’s newer residents has opened up an interesting project- and she’s an expert in robotics. Nick hopes that having her around will help stabilize his neural network- especially since even he doesn’t really know how most of it works. 

Originally, Nick gives his regards to Hancock with a few drinks in the evening and then stays the night at the Hotel Rexford, if need be, no matter how much he would like to make the trek home and make sure Ellie knows he’s alright. 

But really, Hancock’s an old friend anyway, and Ellie trusts the new regime in Goodneighbor to keep Nick safe and sound. It’s on a warm summer night that Nick’s wrapping up his customary drinks with Hancock in the VIP room of the Third Rail that their social script...changes, a little. 

“It’s getting late,” Nick says, standing up. “You should get some rest, Hancock.” 

“The night’s still young!” Hancock protests with a cheeky grin, even though he knows Nick’s probably right. Being in charge takes up a lot of energy. 

Nick puts his share of caps on the table, and he’s about to leave when Hancock takes a drink of his beer and says something he’s not so sure about. 

“Hey, Nicky, you always get a room in the Rexford like you’re some kinda stranger. Why not stay in the State House?” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Hancock half buries his face in the bottle. Dammit. He broke his own first rule: don’t hit on Nick. It makes things worse than it needs to be, makes things complicated. Makes their relationship complicated. Nick pauses, turning the idea over. 

“I guess it does make sense.” 

Wait, what? 

Neither of them have any idea what they’re doing. They make slightly bemused eye contact for a moment, and then Hancock stands up, putting one arm around Nick’s shoulders. 

“Charlie!” Hancock calls to the bartender. “Put mine on my tab!” 

Whitechapel Charlie curses up a blue streak at the both of them, and Hancock, almost giddy, leaves with Nick. 

\--

Since the idea’s spur of the moment, Hancock doesn’t have a spare mattress for Nick, but he does have a couch and a relatively clean blanket-- relatively for the Commonwealth. Ever since the world ended, clean has been hard to come by. Nick’s used to it, hell, his polymer skin is coated in a layer of grime so thick Nick wonders if it can even be scrubbed out right now.

Nick appreciates it fine enough. 

Hancock takes a few hits of jet in his own bed.

Nick lies on his back, eyes glowing in the darkness, comforting Hancock. 

“Something on your mind, Nick? I can hear your gears turnin'. You know, literally.” 

Nick makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s a long story.” 

“I’m a good listener.”

Nick frowns to himself. “I...need to think it over, Hancock. It really is a long story. And I haven’t much discussed it with anyone before.”

Not like this, not all...intimate, and emotional. Hancock shrugs, trying to hide his disappointment. 

“Your choice.” 

Nick doesn’t go into sleep mode that night, just watches Hancock snore (how does he do that without a nose?) and wonders what it means to feel like this is the thing that is truly, fully his, and doesn’t for a moment belong to Nick Valentine the pre-war cop who lost it all. 

His entire personality was built from a starting point, a base. Sometimes Nick has trouble telling if any of it really is him, if he’s just a shadow. 

Moonlight filters through the windows of the Old State House. Hancock sleeps shirtless. Nick grasps this moment as his and only his, something old Nick never could have done, probably never would have, even. 

Why does that mean so much to him? There have been moments like that before. The old Nick Valentine never went toe to toe with wasteland regulars like Super Mutants, Yao Guai, or Deathclaws. He could have valued those moments of “adrenaline,” such as it is. But instead, the moment his “heart” wants to cherish is this. 

He doesn’t have an answer as to why.


	13. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Hancock establish something entirely new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to skip this chapter, it's the one that feels the most Ugh and Wrong but I have no concept of how to fix it. I swear I write better than this.

The change in John is clear. He feels more confident, acts it too. And Nick has to take a bit of notice. 

John has settled into his role as mayor like it’s second nature. Nick supposes Pat and John have a little in common, but more than they’d like to believe. 

John makes a better leader than his brother, though. He doesn’t let go of his roots, nor his identity as a man of the people. He lets the people come in, tell him what’s bothering them. He continues to live like anyone else, gives the excess of caps and chems he has to those who need it, forgives debts near-freely, it’s a miracle to Nick that there are even a few residents who take issue with him. 

For the most part, the reason they don’t agree with Hancock’s policies in reality, is Nick. They tend to cross the few lines Hancock even sets. Nick ends up cleaning up Hancock’s problems more often than not. 

Some of the proprietors joke that Nick should move his business into the State house. He politely declines...and pretends not to notice that his objections make Hancock a little disappointed. 

Nick also ignores that he doesn’t like to see Hancock disappointed. 

“Nicky!” Hancock exclaims. “You staying a while?” 

“Sorry to disappoint you, mayor,” Nick says with amusement. “Just a restock. I’ve got business up near Malden.” 

“You need someone watching your back?” Hancock asks. Nick sighs. 

“Why, do you need a break from the tiring duties of the mayor?” 

“You have no idea.” 

“What would Fahrenheit think?” Nick says, faux-sternly. 

“She can handle the town for a few days. Please? I’m dying here.” 

“I should’ve known you’d never be good at settling down. Get your ammunition, and we’ll move when Fahrenheit lets you go.” 

Hancock grins. “You’re amazing, I’ve never loved you more, let me go tell Fahr before you can change your mind, bye!” 

Hancock runs off, and Nick is stuck thinking about what John meant by  _ I love you _ while he pays KLE-O for his .44 ammo for his good old pipe pistol. 

\--

“Faaahr,” Hancock groans, packing his things. Mentats, jet, shotgun, switchblade. “I said I loved him on reflex. I’m gonna die spending three days or what-not out in Malden with Nicky, alone.” 

“Wow, you really don’t have eyes,” Fahrenheit says dryly. “You’ve been with him for what, ten years, and you really can’t tell he trusts you.”

“Trust is one thing, love’s another, Fahr.”

“In places like these, they might as well be near the same.”

“Romantic love, Fahr, really?”

Fahrenheit glares at him flatly. “For one, his face twitches when anyone else calls him Nicky. When you do it, he doesn’t feel any contempt. That’s not nothing, John.” 

“Ugh, but he could just like me in a totally platonic way and that means nothing!” 

“That is in no way what’s going on here and you know it. Take your shit and tell the synth he’s special to you before I puke.” 

“You’re the worst,” Hancock groans. 

“That’s what sisters do,” Fahrenheit says with a shit-eating smirk. “Get outta here, John.” 

“Bye Fahr, I hope you don’t have to deal with any big issue that will piss you off while I’m gone and make you have to deal with something irritating!” 

\--

The start of the walk out to Malden is quiet, Nick smoking, Hancock debating internally whether or not he deserves a mentat to figure out how to best escape the situation. 

“Something the matter, John?” Nick finally asks, flicking his cigarette to the ground with his metal fingers. “You seem quiet. Not so much like you.” 

“Huh, guess not. Just thinking, I guess.” 

“You’ll rot what’s left of your brain like that,” Nick replies, amused at his own joke. Hancock snorts. 

“You ever been in love, Nicky? Like, Love, with a capital-L, Romantic Love?” 

Nick pauses, then shrugs. “In a past life.”

“And now?” 

“Not so sure.” Nick pauses. “There’re people I trust, John, and I know some of ‘em want me to like them. But I’m not sure if that’s something I can do. I’m not exactly made to love.”

“Awh, bull-shit,” Hancock exclaims emphatically. “You’re always worrying about how human you really are, how alive you are, and you don’t really look at how you’re your own guy. You’ve been doing so much for everyone out here who deserves it.” 

Nick pauses. “John…”

“You’re one of a kind, Nicky,” Hancock continues, tone sad. “I wish you could see it.” 

“I never talked to you about where I come from, John. You might change your mind.” 

“What, the Institute?” Hancock says with a scoff. “Everyone knows that, it’s not a big deal anymore, it-” 

“No, not that.” Nick sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “John, my memories from before 2160, they’re not mine. They loaded a bunch of ‘em from some pre-war cop. Nick Valentine, Russo-english by way of Chicago. He got his head scanned before the great war started, the Institute got their hands on all of that information, and they made me for some reason. Then they tossed me out. Everything that makes me distinct to you belonged to someone else first. Combined with that, I’m a beat-up prototype. I don’t  _ need _ to sleep, or eat, or feel anything. I don’t think I want to do that to anyone.”

“Bullshit,” Hancock says, words unable to stop tumbling out of his mouth. “You’ve lived more’n two lifetimes since you got out. I bet if you met the old Nick today you wouldn’t even recognize him. Yeah, you started with him, but you’re allowed to be someone new now. You may not need to do all that stuff, fuck, no one needs to love anyway. No one  _ needs _ to feel shit. It’s about what you damn well want to feel. So what do you  _ want _ , Nick?” 

Nick pauses, thinking quietly as they keep walking. His attuned ears don’t pick up the telltale sounds of raiders, gunners, or super mutants. So he supposes he has to respond.

“What about what’s better for you, John. I’m not stupid, I know you’ve thought about this more or less since I told you that Diamond City would think that I was corrupting you. Part of me always did.”

“Ugh, then why didn’t you say something?” 

“I figured you would grow out of it,” Nick says. “You deserve somethin’ better.”

“Too bad that’s not what I want.” 

“Let me think about it, John,” Nick says, voice a warning. “Yes, I trust you. There’s not anyone else I’d trust with...trying something like that. You’ve changed a lot. Become someone I am perfectly okay to get to know, in that way. We’re most of the way there in all but name. I need time to think about it, alright?” 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Hancock murmurs. “I get impatient. You know.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want anything else?” 

“What else is there?” Hancock says, with deep, aching sincerity, so strong it makes Nick flinch a little. 

“Let me think for a bit, John. Let me.”

“Okay.” 

\--

Dinner- well, John’s dinner, since Nick doesn’t eat- is quiet. It’s also made up of radroach meat charred over a fire John starts with scrap paper from one of the ruined buildings. There’s a sleeping bag in there, which Nick gestures for Hancock to take, he doesn’t sleep, after all.

Hancock tears into the radroach meat with his bare hands, finishing it as fast as possible. As he moves towards the sleeping bag, Nick clears his throat. 

“Wait.” 

Hancock freezes in place. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Nick sighs, shoulders dropping. He taps his cigarette on the edge of a two hundred year old desk. “I can’t make you not want what you want, John. It’s not fair of me to tell me you should care about me less, even if I feel like you should.” 

Hancock tilts his head. He has no idea where Nick is trying to take this. 

“...I’ve been alive for...a long time. If you had asked me this at seventeen I woulda told you I was too old for you. But now that you’re a ghoul, about thirty-two chronologically, same age as the original Nick Valentine...I can admit that there’s things about you I like. Admire, even. Admit that you’ve become a part of my life I can’t get rid of. Hell, I don’t even want to try.”

“Nick…”

“I can’t tell you if what I feel really is love, John. But if it was anyone, it would be you.” 

Hancock grins. Outright grins. This is the closest he’s ever gotten with Nick. Nick sighs with an affectionate roll of his eyes, and puts out the rest of his cigarette. 

“So...yes. My answer’s yes.” 

“Nicky!” Hancock exclaims, launching into a hug, knocking the synth over. “You just made me the happiest god-damn ghoul in the whole entire Commonwealth, sunshine. I think I’ve been waiting for this all my life.” 

“You do seem pretty excited about it, doll,” Nick says, ignoring that he’s landed on a slightly busted wood plank. It probably tore his jacket, but that’s a later problem. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? God damn, you’re perfect!” 

Nick isn’t sure if he believes that, but the way every single word infuses Hancock’s voice? Hancock sure does. 

And that’s really what matters, anyway.

\--

The next morning, things continue mostly as usual, neither of them perfectly sure of where to start new habits and keep old ones. 

Hancock picks one first- holding Nick’s metal hand. It confuses Nick, a bit, but Hancock enjoys it, and it does make Nick a little happy that it’s something specific to him. A nonverbal way of saying that even the broken parts are part of this...whatever they’re doing now. 

They make it back to Goodneighbor that evening, and even though Hancock wants him to stay, Nick murmurs that he told Ellie he’d be back by sundown, and the sun was already starting to sink on the horizon. So Hancock begrudgingly lets him go, with a promise of return by the end of the week. 

This, Hancock thinks as he blows Nick a cheeky kiss that makes Nick exhibit the signs of a synth blush- pulling his hat down, eyes glowing a little brighter- could be the start of something fantastic and new. 

\--

That weekend, Nick returns like he promised, and Hancock greets him at the gate with a loving embrace, and that’s when almost all of Goodneighbor confirms the suspicion that their mayor has a more permanent lover. 

All sorts of systems for them and them alone fall in over time, all of them written by reflex and emotional intimacy. Notes Nick leaves for Ellie that are vague enough so as not to arouse the suspicion of the Diamond City residents who might stumble upon it. Places they meet in between for a morning smoke (Nick) a hit or two of jet (Hancock) and to watch the sunrise (both). Late night bribes to the Diamond City guards so that Hancock could see the office again, and sit in Nick’s lap just right to pull him into a kiss. 

And every moment is worth it. 


	14. Vault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick takes a pivotal job. The job itself is irrelevant, but the events it sets in motion are far from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get into one of my favorite side characters- because it's one I got to write myself.

“And you think the triggermen are involved?” Nick asks his clients, lighting a cigarette. The woman- concerned mother- nods nervously. 

“We heard she’d been seen with some of them, but she wouldn’t go by herself- it’s so dangerous…”

“Don’t worry about it, ma’am,” Nick says, comfortingly. “I’ve dealt with plenty of cases like this before. I’m sure we’ll get your daughter back safe and sound.” 

“Oh, thank you,” the mother says, on the verge of tears. 

The triggermen are a minor gang, really. They bring back memories of old Nick’s organized crime cases in Chicago. 

And Nick knows where to start to track down triggermen, anyway.

\--

“Subway station,” Hancock supplies, taking a few mentats before offering Nick a lighter. “Not too far from here. You can get in through the subway station on Boston Common, just watch out for Swan. It’ll be an easy walk tomorrow morning.” 

“Hm, tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Hancock says with a grin. “Can’t pass up the time in Goodneighbor, right? You’ve got me to take care of.” 

“Hancock, I have to make sure this girl-”

“Nicky, your big heart is gonna get you killed. Please. It’s afternoon anyway. One night. With me.” 

Nick sighs. “You have a few more hours, John, I want to go in at sundown.” 

Hancock looks disappointed. “Can I come with you?”

“No, John, I’ll be fine. I’ll make it back for the evening, alright? Shouldn’t take long."

With that, Nick removes his cigarette to kiss Hancock on the cheek. 

“If I didn’t know you so well I’d think you were tryna get away from me."

“I want to get this done, so I don’t have to worry when I get to see you around, doll.”

“Be safe, Nicky. You had damn better be safe.”

“I promise.” 

“Say it again,” Hancock murmurs teasingly, kissing Nick as he does. 

“There’s nothing that could keep me away from you forever and you know it.” 

“That’s not what I asked you to say, Nicky, but it was sweet of you.”

“I  _ promise. _ ”

\--

As Nick approaches the massive door of Vault 114, he thinks about what he knows about the place.

Before the war, Vaults were all the rage. Everyone had a sense that the big boom was going down at some point in their lifetime, and Nick supposes most of them were right in the end. 

Of course, from what he knew, there were only a few people who got into vaults. They’re for people who pay well enough. Some vaults were donated, he thinks he remembers reading about that- Vault-Tec paying to put in a vault under a local school. But they were bomb shelters for people who had money. He and Jenny had never put much stock in it. He was too practical to justify the money it would cost, and Jenny was too optimistic to believe in the fundamental purpose of the company, that their days were numbered.

Nick imagines John would at least give the idea some thought if it were them. 

Vault 114 is carved out of a disused subway tunnel, and Nick supposes that this at least cut down on the work Vault-Tec did. No excavations, just construction.

Apart from the basics, Nick doesn’t know much about vaults, except that some of them are still active today, hosting sustainable communities, and most wastelanders distrust “vaulties.” 

The door of Vault 114 is open- good, because otherwise, the only thing to open it would be a Pip-Boy, and Nick doesn’t want the trouble of tracking one down. If there’s one thing rarer than a vaultie who actually survives the surface, it’s a Pip-boy without an owner. 

Nick walks up the steps to the entrance to Vault 114, reaching for the lighter Hancock gave him. He’s negotiated with the triggermen and Skinny Malone before, it’s hardly on his mind at this point. Just another day in the wasteland.

Of course, it is until he gets to the top of the stairs and sees the girl he’s supposed to have come to save on her knees in front of Skinny Malone, apparently  _ fully _ of her will. 

Nick barely has time to think that things have gotten  _ complicated _ when she picks up an old Vault-Tec wrench and clocks him right in the face- damn it,  _ right on his bad side- _ and his body shuts down to effect an immediate reboot. 

\--

_ Fuck, John and Ellie are going to worry. _

Nick’s sensory functions come back online slowly after that thought. The hit doesn’t appear to have permanently displaced any of his functions, fortunately. He can still see clearly, his joints appear to be functional.

At least he’s not the worse for wear. A hit like that would’ve put a human down for a week.

He really should’ve listened to what Ellie was trying to say about traps. 

It looks like he’s in an office- of course, Vault 114. There’s a functional terminal whose functions tell him this is the office of the Vault Overseer. 

Great, which means it’s at the dead back of the vault- the most defensible position. 

“What are you doing here,” the girl- Darla, Nick’s nonessential memory banks supply as they flicker back on- hisses. Nick sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples.

“Your family hired me. I wasn’t exactly planning on trying anything.” 

“Nice try, Valentine. We’re going to have to see what Skinny says about this now that you’re awake.” 

Darla spins on her heel and marches away from the window. 

It’s going to be an issue getting out of here, and he didn’t even make it home for dinner as promised. 

Across the Commonwealth, another vault unseals, slowly but surely, even if he doesn’t know it.

\--

Ellie’s getting tired of the nervous couriers from Hancock daily, asking if she has any news on Nick. No, she has nothing. For all she knows, he’s not where he said he was going anymore. 

She’s putting away his stuff when there’s a short knock on the door and a woman walks in. Ellie knows the look of a client when she sees one, for all the woman’s kitted out in scavenged armor from wherever and what-have-you. Ellie notes Dogmeat, a German Shepherd mix that Nick affectionately crossed paths with once or twice, following her. It must be wet on the ground outside; Dogmeat’s paws are soaked. 

Behind Dogmeat is someone else Ellie doesn’t recognize, but the clothes tell her he must have had something to do with the Minutemen, a short-lived militia Diamond City had only seen bits and pieces of.

“I’m sorry, but the office is closed.” 

The woman looks surprised, then her semi-scarred face twists into determination. “What?”

Ellie sighs, putting the notebook of Nick’s she was holding down on his desk. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s the detective. He’s gone missing.” 

The woman and man exchange a look. Ellie tries to read it, but it’s gone before she can figure out what it’s meant to be. 

“We can find him. Where did you last see him?”

Ellie sighs. “He went to a case with Skinny Malone and the triggermen. I tried to tell him he was probably walking into a trap but he just walked out the door as usual.” she shrugs. “I can give you the place he was going to try and find them. Maybe you’ll find a clue there.” 

The woman whistles for Dogmeat to follow her, and Ellie makes a noise in her throat that makes all of the strangers pause. 

“If you find Nick, can you take him to Goodneighbor first? There’s someone there waiting for him just as much as I am. Maybe even more.”

“If it works out that way, we can,” the woman promises. 

“Who are you?”

They exchange a look again, and, as if taking the lead, the man tips his hat. “Preston Garvey. Commonwealth Minutemen. This is Nora Fox.” 

“Ellie Perkins. Thank you for offering to find Nick for us. Really. Please bring him back in one piece.” 

“Of course, Ellie,” Nora says with a gentle smile. “It’s what we do.”

\--

Nick considers himself a pretty good natured individual.

That said, if one more time the guard they leave outside the office feels the need to try and chat with him, and by “chat with” they really mean taunt-

Well, Nick’s already decided he has little qualms with taking care of most of them on the way out. They didn’t even take his gun- just ammunition.

He’s been here...near-on two weeks now, mostly because he doesn’t need to eat. It’s easy to exhaust the amount of things you can do in an office. He’s even gotten most of the way through wiring the overseer’s terminal to the door so that he can open it himself. 

But, well, it turns out he doesn’t need to work on that. Because he hears the sound of laser fire (Institute? Worst case scenario, the only reason the Institute would want him is to decommission him permanently. Brotherhood of Steel? Even worse. They’d do the same. Someone who’s stolen from one of the above? Dangerous and unlikely, but still his best bet.) The current guard, who was opening his mouth to speak, drops. 

Nick sees a dark-skinned woman with short, wavy hair, holding a laser musket. She flicks her brown eyes to look through the window, and he sees that her face is crossed with scars. 

“General,” another voice says, and she flicks her eyes away in the direction it’s coming from. “The Atrium is clear. Did you find something to get that door open?” 

She holds up a holotape, in view of both Nick and the other voice, clearly to indicate its presence to them both.  

“Much obliged,” Nick mutters as she opens the door for him. Nick sighs, decides to play it cool, and lights his last cigarette. It’s too bad. Hopefully John has more. 

“I appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nora's appearance and name are based on my f!sole design from my run, as is her general combat style and political stances in the commonwealth, but her dealing with the factions is way different from what I actually did, as well as the details of her backstory being fully invented by yours truly (to be discussed further in the next chapter or two) and the precise divergences from the game she engineers (mostly stuff that I thought felt stilted or broken in-game that wouldn't work like that bringing the universe into full sentience- for example, how in the vanilla game you have to choose between Dogmeat and another companion, there's no reason irl for that to not work.) 
> 
> She's a more static character in this tale, though I'd like to think she wouldn't be that way if I focused on her for another piece (which, I probably won't, because of the path she takes through the game being...not through my enjoyed choices.) I enjoy the concepts I made for her, though, which I'll expand on for free- my tumblr is listed at the endnotes and if you're reading this fic long after I posted this chapter and have a ways to go until the endnotes, I'll just slip a link in 


	15. Nora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora and Preston escort Nick from Vault 114 with a pit stop in Goodneighbor. Nick makes some timely observations about the skill Nora employs. Hancock is just happy to have his synth boyfriend back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some more notes about Nora's character and the skills she displays here, but I'll leave those 'til the end since they don't rightly require warnings and would more be classified as "spoilers."
> 
> _And I have seen the heavens hold no rage_   
>  _Like love to hatred turned_   
>  _The gods may grant me a brighter day_   
>  _There's more where that came from anyway_   
>  _Life holds no promises- nor Hel a fury-_   
>  _Like a woman scorned._
> 
> \--Tyr, Hel Hath no Fury

“I need your help looking for someone,” the woman says, leading Nick out of the room. “But I don’t know much about where they are and how long they’ve been gone.” 

“I’ve worked with less,” Nick says, decisively. Surely a woman like this has some clues and knows how to present the evidence intelligently. Her companion follows behind her closely. 

“We shouldn’t talk here, General. We need to make our way out, first.” 

“Don’t worry, Preston. I’m well aware.” the woman smiles kindly. 

Her companion- Preston- turns over one shoulder, offering Nick a hand. “Preston Garvey. Commonwealth Minutemen.” 

The least likely, but friendliest option. Nick shakes. “Nick Valentine. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Yes sir. We appreciate your reputation.”

“We? Are you all making a comeback?” 

“We’re certainly trying. Things’ve turned around since the general gave the last few of us a hand in Concord.” 

“Hm. She seems like a good woman.” 

“Oh, definitely, sir.”

“You know her story?”

“Shouldn’t say right now. She’ll tell you, I promise.” 

“She got a name, at least?” Nick asks. 

“Nora. Nora Fox.” 

Nora raps on a sliding vault door up ahead. 

“Is that locked?” Nick asks, sauntering up. “I can take care of it. Give me a sec.” 

It’s not that different from what he was working on with his plan to get the office door open. He’s gotten used to it. 

The door slides open to reveal a stairwell. Nick sighs. “Who built this damn vault, a fitness instructor?” 

Nora Fox bursts out into giggles behind one hand. At least that gives Nick the satisfaction of knowing that she’s probably not anti-synth. At least not a lot. 

“So who’d you chase here?” she eventually asks, and Nick sighs irritably. 

“Skinny Malone. Don’t let the name's, uh,  _ irony _ fool you, he’s not exactly a pushover. Unfortunately, the girl I came here to pick up turned out to be his latest flame. And she’s got a damn mean streak.”

“Yikes,” Nora says with a low whistle. Nick notes that though she has a laser musket, presumably gifted by Preston, the weapon she keeps on hand is a mean-looking hunting knife. She handles it as though she’s used to it. Nora’s dressed like someone who does better at hunting from the shadows, too, dark leather jacket with armor strapped over it. “It’ll be an easy fight on our way out, though.” 

“With a knife?” 

“I’m quick on my feet,” Nora says slyly. “You’ll see- well, you will if any of them try to stop us.”

Nick pauses at the next locked door. “I think this is the last door. If there’s anything, be ready. I think I hear big fat footsteps, but that could be just my ears.” 

Nora spins her knife in her hand. “Got it.”

Nick puts one hand on his gun as the door opens. Nora flicks the knife into her sleeve with one motion, leaving her gun strapped to her back. 

“Nicky,” Skinny Malone himself says with a sigh. Nick’s mouth twitches with contempt. “You’re breaking my heart. You come in here, you kill all my guards…”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

“Poor little Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl?” the girl says, and Nora almost flinches at how much venom is in her tone. Preston  _ does _ flinch. Nick, however, squares his shoulders, contempt building in his expression slowly...and ignores her as she keeps talking. “I’ll just run home to daddy, shall I?” 

Nick glares hard enough to sent a chill down anyone’s spine, and turns to Nora. “She’s the one I was telling you about.” 

“Hey, you got something to say, say it to me,” Malone growls, and Nora puts one arm in front of Nick before stepping forwards. 

“I’m going to give you chucklefucks one chance. Darla? You’re digging yourself a grave, sweetheart. Not just with me, but in general. Guys like that burn out fast. You don’t wanna run with ‘em forever.” 

Nick watches, stunned, as the doubt takes root in Darla’s eyes. Damn, Nora’s good. 

“Get out of here.” 

Darla turns heel and goes. 

“Aw, you already cost me a bunch of men, you and your friend here are gonna cost me the girl, too, Nicky?” 

Nora flicks her eyes back to Nick, and notes that he does the same contemptuous mouth twitch. Implicit permission. 

“Before you try anything, lady, the same tricks that worked on Darla ain’t gonna do shit for me.”

Nora drops her shoulders- at a glance disappointed, but Nick senses something off about the gesture. She shrugs. “Alright.”

In a flash, the knife pops out of her sleeve, back into her hand, and she’s up close and personal with Skinny Malone, blade buried in his throat. 

“Too bad I have to use my other tricks.”

She steps back and raises her eyebrow questioningly at the other two, shaking her knife off, ridding it of blood. “Any questions from the class?” 

The other two flee. 

Nora wipes the rest of the blood off on her armor, looking, for the most part, disinterested. 

“General,” Preston says hesitantly. Nora pockets her weapon. 

“People understand hardball these days, I suppose.” 

Nick cocks his head slightly.  _ These days _ ? 

Nora checks her wrist- Nick hadn’t noticed it before. Pip-Boy. He can’t believe someone from a vault really learned how to fight like an experienced merc. 

“I suppose we have time to fulfill Ellie’s request.” 

Of course. “Ellie hired you?” 

“Yes. She had a particular request, that we take you to Goodneighbor. She said that there’s someone there who wants to see you.” 

Nick lets out a breath. “I see.” 

He’s not going to talk about that yet. 

\--

Nora pushes open the door in the wall that leads to Goodneighbor. Her knife has been cleaned in a carton of radioactive water she was carrying, clean enough for her to put it back in her sleeve. Now Nick notes the reasoning- if she can close the gap in conversation fast enough, people might never notice she’s armed. 

Reminds Nick of someone he knows. 

“Hey. You look new to Goodneighbor. Can’t go walking around without insurance.” 

Nick sighs. If only he could slip away to find John without getting noticed. 

But Nora can handle herself. He’ll hold back for the moment. 

Nora folds her arms. “Insurance.” 

“Yeah. You hand over the caps you’ve got, or accidents start happening to ya. Big, bloody accidents.” 

Nora lowers her right arm, and Nick’s well aware that this cocky idiot’s going to end up gutted in the street before Hancock could even get to him. 

Then, of course, speak of the devil. John saunters up. 

Nick’s so used to reading ghoul expressions that the one he sees is relief, and he knows (knowing Hancock) that the ghoul wants to drop this whole display and tell Nick he’s so relieved it’s alright.

In fact, that probably makes him even more irritated. “Hey. Nick Valentine finally comes back and you’re doing that to his friends? Someone walks through that gate for the first time, they’re a guest. Knock off the extortion crap.” 

“Come on, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over you, one day, there’s gonna be a new mayor.”

Hancock narrows his eyes. “Finn. This is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something here.” 

Nick notes the little tic at the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, and he imagines what’s about to happen, calmly lighting a cigarette. 

Hancock pulls his knife out of the flag sash, flips it open, and stabs it into the other man’s chest.

Hancock flips the knife shut and puts it away, before folding his arms. “Now why’d you have to do that to me on a day like this, huh? Breaking my heart.” 

Nick never could have estimated how much watching Hancock’s face as he looks up and drops the mayor act for a moment (and how his expression looks so genuine) would make him feel like he’s been punched in the chest with love. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, sister. Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people. Especially people who are fine enough with my people.” he tilts his head to Nick. “I know you probably could’ve handled it, you got that look about you, but I had to make a point of it anyway.” 

Nick contains a snort. 

“Ugh. Since I’ve been worried about you, I’ll overlook the pun.” 

Nick starts to offer Hancock his right hand then pauses. “You’ll be alright for the night?” 

Nora seems to have gotten the unspoken secret, and grins indulgently. “We can talk business tomorrow.” 

“Thank god,” Hancock mutters, and pulls Nick off towards the state house.

Once the door shuts behind him, Hancock’s not so much kissing as holding Nick close, staying at his chest. 

“I promised you nothing would keep me from you.”

“I worried every fucking day, Nicky, I was gonna hire that merc down in the third rail to go find you.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Fahr said she’d do it tomorrow.” Hancock pauses, almost shaking, running his hands down Nick’s biceps. “You’re here.”

Nick wraps his arms around his boyfriend. Squeezes tight. 

“Of course I am. Half the time all I coulda thought about was getting back to you and Ellie. Nothing can keep me from you. Got it?” 

“Nothing’s keeping me from following you home and never having t’let you leave my sight ever again.” 

“That’s not-” 

“-practical, I know. Let’s have that talk later, okay? Just gotta know you’re with me.” Hancock’s still shaking like a chihuahua as he presses himself close to Nick, close enough that Nick can feel his heart pounding.

John...Hancock really missed him. Worried for his safety. Spent each day he was gone praying Nick Valentine was okay. Nick even suspects that if Fahrenheit hadn’t volunteered, Hancock would’ve come down there himself.

Somehow, that’s the most care he’s ever felt from a single being- ghoul, human, or synth. 

Nick can’t say no to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I did bend canon dialogue a bit, sue me, I just deeply wanted a scenario with this that could show off Nora as a character- her style, skills, and abilities. 
> 
> Nora is a high-agility high-charisma character- her handling of her knife is meant to be reminiscent of the Blitz perk, aka, best melee perk in the gd game. There _is_ a lore explanation of her weapons and such, but it'll be touched on later. Let's just say while the canon backstory is only that Nora and Nate were pre-war citizens and one was a lawyer and the other was a veteran, my Nora's backstory goes much deeper. All I'm saying is, I wanted it to make sense that f!Sole would know how to hold a gun or a knife just as much as her husband. 
> 
> I'm realizing describing her in these notes I made her way too fun of a character to relegate to a fairly static side position in this fic, a primarily Nick-fic. Perhaps I'll elaborate on her more some other time.


	16. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora talks. Nick and Hancock get half a quiet day, but the arrival of politics to the Commonwealth puts "quiet time" on hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, this fic is already finished, I just feel like a few thousand words of it are filler. 
> 
>  
> 
> _What a gift, what a gift you've been givin' me_  
>  _Here with my heart so whole, while others may be grieving_  
>  _Think of their grieving_  
>  _And oh my boy, don't you know you are dear to me_  
>  _You are a breath of life and a light upon the water_  
>  _A light upon the water. ___  
>  _And oh, my love, if you only knew how I long for you_  
>  _How I waste my days wishin' you would come around_  
>  _Just to have you around._
> 
> _  
> _\--The Decemberists, 12/17/12_  
>  _

Nick doesn’t enter sleep mode that night, electing to bask in the feeling of Hancock curled up around him, clinging like if he let go for a second Nick would disappear back to Vault 114. And Nick, well, he can’t say he minds the attention. It’s the sincerest, deepest, and most honest form of flattery he can imagine.

Dawn filters through the windows. Hancock stirs gently, blinking sleepily at his synth. His lover. His boyfriend.

“Look at you. I must still be dreamin’.” A slow smile spreads across the ghoul’s face, like butter melting in the summer. Nick rolls his eyes. 

“You’re a chronic flatterer,” the synth replies. His words don’t echo in his chest like they would for someone with lungs, but Hancock appreciates the soft buzz of Nick’s voicebox anyhow. 

“Easy to be when it’s for you.”

Hancock likes that Nick pretends like his eyes don’t flicker to indicate a type of blush. He’s learned all the signs of Nick displaying an emotion his face isn’t fully equipped to display- flickering eyes (flattered, embarrassed, flustered), static in his voice box (nervous, overstimulated, afraid), little twitches in his bad hand (impatient, deep in thought, puzzled). He finds each and every one endearing. Not to mention perfect, even if Nick doesn’t agree. 

“You going somewhere with that Nora girl today?” 

“I should.”

“But you’d rather not?” Hancock guesses. “Nicky. Send her ahead to the city with a message to tell Ellie to take care of security. Then you an’ me can take a little day trip.”

“You were serious about not letting me out of your sight, hm?” 

“Oh, not ever again,” Hancock purrs. “It’s going to be at least a month before I stop walking you back to the fens, believe me.”

“Somehow, I think you’re not bluffing,” Nick mutters. “Fine. I’ll send her ahead as a courier. Are you happy?” 

“ _ Overjoyed _ ,” Hancock says, leaning in and pressing his lips to the battered polymer of Nick’s face. They have a little free time, now, may as well make the most of it.

\-- 

Nick leaves a note for Nora notifying her of his decision with Preston, who he finds milling about negotiating politely with Daisy for supplies. Preston looks curious, but accepts, assuring him that if Nora forgets to give Ellie the message, he won’t. 

Hancock-  _ John _ \- greets him on the stairwell inside the Old State House. He’s only half dressed, now. He spreads his arms, lazy grin on his face. Nick puts his arms around his boyfriend’s hips, kissing him firmly. 

Things are perfect, in that moment. 

\--

Nora almost politely declines one of Nick’s cigarettes, then says “Fuck it” under her breath and grabs an unlit one from between his metal fingertips. She lights it herself with a beat-up gold flip-lighter that looks like she scavenged it out of some pre-war wreck. 

“When we’re talking about a missing person, the devil’s in the details. I’m gonna need everything you can remember.” 

Nora nods, as if she didn’t need him to remind her of that, and explains. 

“So you and your husband were from before the war, correct? As was your son?” 

“Yes.” Nora huffs sourly, blowing out a bit of smoke from her mouth. “Fat lot of good that was. Swear, it wasn’t that much better when you got down to it. Just full of pretty little coverups for big fucking problems.” 

Nick thinks Nora sounds a little like Hancock, sometimes. 

“...what makes you say that?” he asks, unbearably curious. He hasn’t explained his situation to Nora yet- all she knows is that he’s a synth detective and knows his way around. Nora pauses, taking a breath in of her cigarette. 

“The day the bombs dropped a friend of mine was hiding some Chinese-American refugees in her backyard bunker. Dunno what happened to them. Of course, my husband had to get us pressured into signing up for the vault. ‘It’s free,’ he said. ‘It won’t matter,’ he said.” 

“What were you doing with them?” Nick follows up, warily. “The people your friend was hiding.”

Nora pauses, contemplating whether to tell him before blowing out smoke. “There’s no government around to care. We were hiding them in the hopes that the whole war thing would eventually get de-escalated. We weren’t about to just watch as our friends- loyal people, done nothing wrong- got shipped off cause they got born in the group-to-hate of the decade. That’s not what I held the girls to.”

“The things you did before the war. What exactly were they? I doubt that a pre-war housewife would know how to handle herself around a blade.” 

Nora barks out a laugh, tapping ash off her cigarette. “Watch’erself, detective, I think you’re the first person in my whole life to call me a housewife. I was an activist, to answer your question. I did some less than legal stuff when I was a teenager. Founded a little girl gang out of some like minded ladies, spent my first decade of freedom making mischief.” 

“Gang?” Nick’s neural net is firing through memories of old Nick. Yes, there were pockets of activism and anti-war resistance starting to spring up around the time of old Nick’s- and Nora’s- generation. Old Nick encountered a few of them. He couldn’t say he fully disagreed with them- only their methods from time to time- and besides, old Nick mostly dealt with real criminals, not political prisoners. After all, his specialty was organized crime.

Nora twists in her seat, showing Nick the patch on her right bicep- the face of a woman with sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks, with white flowing hair, mouth open in a scream. 

Nick, to his own surprise, recognizes the logo. He absently puts his cigarette to his synthetic lips. “Huh.”

\--

Hancock chats amicably with Ellie as Nick and Nora discuss quietly their business. Nick smokes, and while Hancock can tell he’s deep in thought about something important, he waits to interrupt. He eventually tells Nora something, and she leaves with Preston. Hancock walks up behind Nick’s seat, gently brushing the torn polymer next to Nick’s ear. 

“What’s the story, hm?” 

Nick sighs. “She was frozen by the vault runners the day of the bombs. Someone woke her up, killed her husband, and kidnapped her son in front ‘f her. She’s looking for answers.” 

“Yikes,” Hancock murmurs. “She really pre-war?” 

“We were discussing where she learned how to be so good with a knife,” Nick replies, as Hancock spins the office chair around so he can sit on his boyfriend’s lap. “She was part of a pre-war guerrilla activist group. The Banshees. Haven’t met anyone out here before who’d even heard of them.” 

“Wait, she was a terrorist? And she made time to have a kid? And ended up in a  _ vault? _ ” 

“Activist,” Nick corrects. “The Banshees were...anti-everything. Against the war, against the government, against corporations. You would have liked them. They believed that people with that much power don’t care about the little guy, just about holding on to their power. Their biggest belief was that the war was a distraction from government corruption.”

“Well...you’re right, I would like that, dammit. Stop knowing me so well.” 

Nick chuckles. “Her late husband was ex-military. Agreed with her ideas. They went into semi retirement, moved from some harsh activism to simply peaceful protesting and the like. Had a kid. Then the world ended, and now she’s here to deal with us.” 

“Where’d you send her out to?” 

“Get a key from Geneva. I’ve got a suspect here in Diamond City, and his house might provide a little insight. She’s a smart girl, can watch herself and solve her own case, the most she needs is a bit of direction. Not used to the place.”

“You’re not just saying that so we can spend the night back in Goodneighbor, right?” 

“If I wasn’t confident in her ability to protect herself, John, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Hancock grins. “Glad you could tell I want you all to myself.” 

“Nick,” Ellie calls from upstairs. “Take your break, but when you get back, we got a courier today from a Mr. Kenji Nakano, up near Salem. Should talk to you about it when you’re not too wrapped up with Nora.” 

“Thank you, Ellie. Leave it in my desk.” 

“Understood!” 

“Now,” Hancock purrs. “About having you to myself…”

\-- 

That afternoon, after seeing Nora off with Dogmeat, who Nick had run in with before, to help her track, Hancock threaded his arm through his boyfriend’s and tugged him back to Goodneighbor. 

“After this I think you should try living in my house for two days in a row,” Nick mutters as Hancock starts to press short kisses to his mouth in the doorway of the state house. Hancock grins. 

“Well, we can’t leave your house during the day, so I think you know what we’d get up to instead!”

“Never mind. I’m not keeping you in the agency. Not until someone gets rid of McDonough.” 

Fahrenheit looks at them from her spot on the top banister as they enter. “Farrah! Woman of the hour. No trouble in town today?” 

“Nah, boss. Same old rat hole. See you have your hands on your man for another evening.” 

Hancock grins brightly at that. “And thank god. Thought he was gonna get pulled right into another chase, but Nora just needed a point in the right direction, you know? So I thought I’d hang on to him for a little while longer.” 

“Gross. I’m gonna go buy more cigs off of Daisy. And some of your special sauce outta the Rexford. You two have fun.” 

“We’re gonna do more than that!” Hancock exclaims as Fahrenheit slides down the banister. “Farrah, come on, high five me!” 

Fahrenheit sticks her tongue out at her brother, and Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. Somehow, they get on like a house on fire- in the good way. 

“Seeya boss!” Fahrenheit calls, slamming the door behind her. Hancock presses up against Nick’s chestplate. 

“So. Before we were interrupted by Fahr…’more than that’?” 

Nick sighs affectionately. “I’m listening.”

\--

Jet fumes and cigarette smoke fill the air of a lazy Commonwealth afternoon. Somewhere safe. No worries to be had right now, no need to think past the moment. Orange and red hues of a setting sun spread across the floor. One’s just in the right spot for Hancock to doze, like a cat, in the warmth. The sky is beautiful tonight. Hancock loves it.

Nick seems like he’s still a little caught in his thoughts, but he’s here, and that’s what matters. Hancock figures he can deal with it later, if Nick wants to talk. But first things first.

“Hey. D’you wanna send Fahr to get something from the Rail?” 

Nick hums thoughtfully, blowing out a puff of nicotine smoke. “Why not? Drinks sound wonderful. I’m sure Charlie would love to abuse Farrah for asking to bring us dinner.” 

“Oh, definitely. Besides, it’s been too long since I got to rag on my baby sister.”

“You know, if someone gives you the chance, you make a pretty good brother.”

“Yeah? How’d you know, Mr. Only Child?” 

“Just a feeling. You and Farrah’re thick as thieves anyhow.”

Hancock grins. “Hey, Farrah! C’mere!” 

Fahrenheit opens the door, but instead of looking irritated, she looks worried. Ashmaker is strapped to her back. Hancock sits up, frowning. 

“Boss. You’re gonna need to see this. Both of you.” 

Hancock pulls on his clothes, and Nick gets his own jacket back on. Fahrenheit beckons them out to the balcony. At first, they can’t tell what’s wrong, until they follow her eyes to the sky. 

A massive silver zeppelin, flanked by vertibirds, is making its way across the sunset sky. All three of them know that all over the Commonwealth people must be staring up at this same odd, new, and frightening sight. This was a warning. Things are about to change forever.

“People of the Commonwealth. Our intentions are peaceful. Do not interfere. We are the Brotherhood of Steel.” 

“Shit,” Hancock breathes. His brain wants to map the ways that this is going to make his life much, much more complicated. All he can manage is, “Brotherhood sure knows how to make an entrance, huh.”

Hancock looks over at Nick, whose brow is knitted in a frown. Of course. The Brotherhood of Steel must have no love for synths. 

“Deep into that darkness, peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing.” 

“Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before,” Fahrenheit finishes, looking irritated at the surprise on her brother’s face. “What? I can read too. But this isn’t good news, boss. It’s really bad news, actually, considering who we are and what we’re dealing with.” 

“Mark my words, the Brotherhood’s here to start a war.”

“It’s shit news, but we can’t let anyone know we’re afraid,” Hancock replies, squaring his shoulders. “Brotherhood tries to wipe Goodneighbor out, I won’t let them.” He gently wraps one hand around Nick’s bad right hand. “And I sure as hell won’t let them take what’s ours. They’re here to start a war, fine, but if they wanna come here, we can make them think twice.” 

Hancock squeezes Nick’s hand, and reads the relief in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Guess our vacation is over, huh?” Nick asks. “Between this...development, Nora, and the Nakano message Ellie left on my desk, we’ve got a lot of things to take care of. You sure you can handle it?” 

“You sure you can keep up? Time to get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'm going to try and make it so quests aren't lying around for months at a time before they're dealt with  
> me: accidentally drops the far harbor subplot for the next few chapters to focus on the main stuff 
> 
> please help me, I'm a chronic mess. 
> 
> Anyway, there's Nora's story! If you're curious, you can take any questions to the comments or my tumblr, with my blessing- I'm really getting to appreciate Nora as a character that I made.


	17. Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick asks Hancock for help with something very important to him. Unfortunately, they're looking for something in the same place as someone who very much doesn't want them around. ~~Nora needs to keep a leash on her himbo.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This thing could go two ways_   
>  _(Won’t be another exit for days)_   
>  _So pack a small suitcase_   
>  _(Anything else can be easily replaced.)_
> 
> \--The New Pornographers, High Ticket Attractions

“John.”

Hancock looks up from a note he’s writing at his desk as Nick knocks on the doorframe. Hancock smiles tiredly. 

“Hey, Nicky. C’mere.”

Nick presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. 

“I’ve finished up at the Memory Den with Nora. And I got something to take care of before Ellie and I talk about that message from Mr. Nakano. You in?” 

“Does it involve getting out of town for a while to recharge and not think about the Brotherhood of Steel all holed up at the airport plotting their plots?”

“M-hmm.”

“Then I’m in. What do you need, Nicky?”

Nick sighs, sitting on Hancock’s desk. “Back before the war, the original Nick Valentine was working a case. Organized crime, that was his specialty. There was a mob boss called Eddie Winter.”

“Wait.” Hancock holds up a hand, recalling where the name sounds familiar from. “The one on some of those old copies of the Boston Bugle?” 

“The very same. You ever read ‘em close?” 

“He got exonerated for informing to the BADTFL. Why?” 

Nick grimaces. “One of the crimes he was exonerated for his deal was the murder of Jenny Lands. My...previous lover, if you count her.” 

Oh. Hancock takes Nick’s ruined hand in his. “Nicky, I’m so sorry.” 

“After the trial he dropped off the map. I, uh...think he went ghoul. And I think he’s under a Joe Spuckies.”

“What are you going to do?” 

“Find the password,” Nick says, tracing a pattern absently on Hancock’s hand, “He hid it on his informer logs. Then I’m going into that bunker of his and killing him. Someone has to.”

“Are you sure?” 

“John, I remember Eddie Winter clear as day. He was...if he had come out sooner, he’d already be a raider. His only way was cheating others, killing the innocent, taking from others. And when those he worked with outlived their usefulness, he threw them to the side to get off scot free. He killed a woman with no involvement in his affairs.” Nick pauses, hands stilling. “Her only crime was agreeing to marry me. Us. Whichever.”

“Yes,” Hancock blurts. “Yes. I’ll help you take this bastard down. I know you, Nicky, you wouldn’t just want him wiped out without good reason. I trust you. I believe you. Let’s do this.”

Nick’s eyes glow, pleased, and he leans in to kiss Hancock. “I’ve got some leads.”

\--

That’s how what’s meant to be a vacation away from their more political, present worries (to visit past worries and demons that need to be put to rest) drags them right to the present worries they were trying to avoid. 

A Brotherhood squadron is squatting in the police station Nick needs to get into. Of fucking course. 

Inevitably, the situation ends up with Nick and Hancock having fought through the ferals swarming the place to come eye to eye with the stiffest looking guy Hancock has ever seen, in power armor, looking at them like they personally shat in his snack cakes.

“No.”

“We need to get in there,” Hancock argues. “Five minutes, in and out, there’s salvage we need in the fucking evidence locker!” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“We’re not even here for your piece of shit things. We want one fucking thing and one fucking thing only, and we-”

“Hancock,” Nick interrupts calmly, even though Hancock can tell he’s upset with the situation. “They’re not going to let us in. It’s a bust. Let’s just- go home.”

“No, Nicky, I’m not gonna let them take away your closure.” Hancock turns to the soldier, trying to look as intimidating as one can look to someone who’s got a solid foot and a half on you in armor. “We want a holotape with pre-war local records. We know it’s in there. We know you Brotherhood bastards clean up anything pre-war. It’s not fucking tech, it’s just intel that’s dead, so let us have it.” 

“And why would  _ you _ want it if it’s dead?” 

“Paladin Danse.”

The door of Cambridge Police Station creaks open, and to the duo’s surprise they see Nora Fox. 

“Ah. Sorry to interrupt.” she walks down the steps slowly. “Nick. Hancock. What brings you both here?” 

“Well, I-” 

“Nicky needs some evidence inside. For a case.” 

“I see.” Nora gives them a short nod. “Let them in. Give them...five, ten minutes to find the evidence they need.” 

“What?” Danse hisses, clearly upset. 

“Like it or not, Paladin, I owe them a favor. They’re part of the reason I have the item I’m selling you. They were very helpful, and I appreciate it.”

Hancock tilts his head at Nora. “Not joining up with the Brotherhood, are ya, sister?” 

Nora shrugs. “Business is business, and I certainly have something they’d like to have. Very much.” 

“As long as it ain’t a plan to kill the rest of us, we’re in decent standing, sister. Thanks for stepping in.” 

And Hancock pulls Nick into the station before Danse can object. 

\--

Nick feels the scowls of the other two Brotherhood soldiers as they head for the evidence lockup. Hancock digs through the boxes, pocketing various chems, as Nick examines the terminal.

“There should be one holotape in here,” Nick says, “And the terminal will give us the locations of some of the other ones.” 

“Holotape. Got it. Will it have a name?” 

“Anything with Winter. Or Operation Winter’s End.” 

“That what they called your team? What a name.” 

“A pretty lie,” Nick says darkly, scrolling through the evidence records. “There. That’s what we needed.” 

Hancock proudly wiggles a holotape with “Operation Winter’s End” scrawled on it in the air. “And I got your tape. The wedding’s in three months, right?” 

“Only if you keep being so helpful,” Nick jokes. There’s a knock on the door, and Nora leans on the doorframe. 

“Time’s up.” 

“We got what we needed,” Nick assures her, standing up. “What’s...with you and these...pricks, pardon my French?”

Nora sighs. “Wasn’t my favorite thing either, but something I learned in the Banshees. Always learn about each major player. Know who’s your enemies and who’s your friends. The Brotherhood has some decent principles, but the way Danse was glaring at you two, I doubt that’s all they’re selling. I gotta play the field some. See who’s gonna serve me best if I take a run at the Institute.”

“Damn. What’re you selling the Brotherhood that’s worth that?” 

“Tech, mostly. Some pre-war secrets they want for their archives. Possibly, a way into the Institute. They already wanna shoot their shot, in that, our interests line up. But I think it’s for very different reasons than I do.” Nora shrugs. “It ain’t a personal dislike of you two and your kind, that’s for damn sure. That make you feel better?” 

“Yeah,” Hancock says, shrugging as he moves out the door. “But I damn well hope you make the right choice, sister. Ain’t nobody the lesser for their inhumanity. Don’t throw me an’ Nicky under the brahmin, a’right?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Nora says cheerfully. “Anyone I join up with is going to be conforming to my plans. Whether they like it or not. You know, I founded the Banshees, and I was their leader for ten years? Until I met Nate? I’ve played the game since before either of you were even a concept, you know. I’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah, I hope that for all of our sakes, sister,” Hancock replies. He’s half-teasing, but he hopes that his tone conveys how grave of an issue this could become, the balance of power in the Commonwealth already teetering.

\--

Hancock lies awake that night, listening to Nick playing the tape over and over. It’s all words Nick knows deep down, he’s heard them before and will again when the holotape loops. 

_ “Together, we  _ _ will _ _ knock Eddie Winter off his throne and dump his ass in a 2000-volt easy chair. It should come as no surprise-” _

Nick flicks another cigarette butt to the ground. 

_ Come to sleep, Nicky, _ Hancock thinks, not wanting to deprive Nick of his thoughts.  _ There’s no clue on that. Just memories that’ll make you feel worse. _

Then again, maybe this whole chase is memories that will make Nick feel worse. Or if they try, they can banish them together. 

Hancock hopes it’s the latter. Nick deserves to live free, too- free of the ghosts that haunt his metal bones. 

As the night rolls on, Hancock dozes, and Nick finally shuts the holotape off, moving closer to his partner to keep him safe in his sleep. 

\--

Nick’s quiet the next few days, as they make their rounds, collecting the tapes. Each night, he listens to them, over and over, even though anyone could hear the numbers. Hancock doesn’t even need mentats to figure out the bits and pieces of the code that they have. 

“Nicky,” Hancock murmurs as the synth holds the tenth tape in his metal hands, as they trudge towards Andrew Station and the access tunnels for Eddie Winter’s bunker. “Nicky, we’re gonna take him down. Okay?”

Nick hums. 

“You’re gonna close out this thing. It’s gonna be perfect, yeah? All yours.” 

“It’s never been my fight, John, not really.” 

“Bull fucking shit. You inherited all those memories, bet they feel about as real to you as I do right now.” 

“You’re very real.” 

“Just because a memory was given to you doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Hancock says, walking backwards so he can make eye contact with Nick. “No matter how many times you say you don’t believe it, I’m going to tell you this. It’s in your head and it makes you feel so it’s yours. End of fuckin’ subject. Eddie Winter is  _ your _ demon because you are  _ Nick Fucking Valentine _ , distinct from the first but allowed to keep his feelings. And you are mine, got it? So we’re going to murder the first ghoul ever made, and then I’m gonna present you with a pack of perfectly preserved cigarettes I’ve been saving for the occasion.”

“...you bought me cigarettes?” 

“Of course. Figured you’d need to celebrate somehow. Come on. We got a bullet with a bastard’s name on it. No matter what, I’m’onna be right behind you every step of the way. That’s what partners do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't meet Danse until I was doing Nick's affinity quest. Phoenix can attest to my muttering "piss off and let me in the station, I hate you, I just need the quest item." Or something like that. 
> 
> Nora doesn't dislike him as much as I did, though. 
> 
> I feel like this is one of those quests that, in bringing the universe from a video game to a living, thinking place, it's something Nick would get to on his own eventually, with your help or with someone else he trusts. Time is more urgent in the reality of the world, so, why not trust your ghoul lover with your unfinished business? 
> 
> Happy April fool's day, by the way! The only joke on this chapter is calling Danse Nora's Himbo in the chapter summary.


	18. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and John have a resolution, and a moment together. Nora politely requests Nick's company for a while, seemingly fed up with the rest of the Commonwealth, and that takes them far up north...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming to you live from "just recovered from a 24-hour depression lockdown" it's Ash Yorkisms with more Challengers! 
> 
> This chapter contains 22% annoying amounts of research to fact check plot points, 10% gay, 15% me getting fed up on the DiMA delay and just slamming full force into that final arc a bit too early, and 53% me thinking "god, get you a man like THIS" while writing John. 
> 
> _Her shining face in a million reflections_   
>  _On tiny raindrops that fall in a veil_   
>  _Over our city like notes from above_   
>  _It overwhelms me, just ain't that tough_   
>  _It's not that the darkness can't touch our lives_   
>  _I know it will in time. But she's no ordinary valentine..._   
>  _And know when the sun goes down she sheds a darling light._   
>  _Oh I've been selfish, and full of pride_   
>  _But she knows deep down there's a little child._   
>  _I've got a good side to me as well,_   
>  _And it's that she loves in spite of everything else._
> 
> \--The Shins, September

“Nicky,” Hancock says softly, as Nick looks at the keypad. “C’mon. Let’s end this.” 

Nick clenches his metal fist. “Alright, John. You’re right.” 

Nick mutters the numbers under his breath as he punches in the code. “One, nine, five, three, seven, two, eight, four, zero, six.”

The door swings open. They both steel themselves for what they might find. Hancock keeps one hand on his knife. “Me first, Nicky,” he murmurs, and pushes his way in before Nick can object. He’s not letting this personal errand get Nick killed. 

“Who the fuck are you?” the ghoul of Eddie Winter spits, and Hancock’s tempted to reach for his shotgun and put buckshot in between what’s left of the bastard’s eyes. But this is Nick’s demon, and Nick needs to deal with it himself. No point in taking his revenge from him. 

“The more important question is why the fuck I’m here,” Hancock growls, hearing Nick move up behind him. 

“Don’t tell me you cracked the holotape code? After all this time? It’s only been two hundred years.” Winter snorts. “I’m not sure what you thought you’d find- gold, the secrets of the universe, whatever- but it’s just me. And what I got you can’t have. The code was a joke. To prove how dumb the feds were. And it worked.”

_ Any year now, Nicky.  _ If Hancock had any remaining doubt of Nick’s evaluation of this guy, it vanished in an instant. He shudders to think of this ghoul out in the world, in proximity to  _ his _ town. If this wasn’t Nick’s fight, Hancock would put him down right this second. 

To Hancock’s relief, Nick finally finds his voice, tone scathing. “I’m not leaving ‘til I get what I came for.” 

“Yeah? What’s that? Who the fuck are you, anyway? Some kind of robot?” He looks at Hancock. “Is that what it’s like out there? Robot overlords? I knew it.” 

Hancock glares, disgust in his interjection. “This bot’s a better man than you on his worst day.” 

“My name is Valentine.  _ Nick _ Valentine. Remember me?” Nick growls. 

“Valentine...the cop? Is that who you’re supposed to be?” Winter laughs, honest to god laughs, and Hancock’s hand tightens on his knife. From Nick’s stories, Nora is probably faster with one than him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t close the gap fast enough to give this 200-year-old fat cat a terminal hole in his throat. “Sorry, pal, but you ain’t Nick Valentine. You’re just a machine."

“You killed my fiancee. Jennifer Lands. There are some crimes even  _ you _ can’t get away with, Winter.” 

Hancock only has a moment to revel in the fact that Nick claimed those memories and incidences as his. 

“ _ Your _ fiancee? You mean Valentine’s. Pretty girl. Shame what happened to her. But hey,” Winter shrugs. “The real Valentine shoulda backed off. When he had the chance. But what do you even care, robot man? Some broad gets whacked 200 years ago and you come into my home acting like the hard guy?” 

There’s a tense pause as Winter snorts before dropping his final sentence harder than the impact of the bombs. Hancock notes Nick’s hand tightening on his pipe pistol. 

“Christ, pathetic. Look at you. You’re not even alive.” 

“Then I guess I’m in good company,” Nick drawls, casting a look back to Hancock to make sure his partner knows what’s about to happen. 

And then, in a motion that’s practically slow from how fast it happens, Nick discharges a bullet from his pipe pistol into Eddie Winter’s head. 

“Nicky? Talk to me, sunshine.” 

“We’re done here. I...have one more thing to do.” 

“Hold on,” Hancock murmurs, before squatting next to the body. He pulls from Winter’s pocket a revolver, like Nick’s, but pristine and more than just pipe. It’s got a scope on it, which Hancock thinks is just useless, so he slides the scope off. “Nicky.” 

“Hm?” 

“Here.” He presses it into Nick’s metal hand, stock-first. “Yours now.” 

“John…” 

“Better than your current one, right? Besides. You deserve a reminder that you did this yourself. This was you. Even if it was based in something that was arguably not your memory, the fact that you did this and did it with me, your perfect boyfriend who you love for all time-” 

“John.” 

“Off track, I get it, ok. You did it because you chose to. It’s yours. Just like this relationship and everything you’ve done out here? It’s yours. Well, the  _ relationship  _ is ours, but you know what I’m getting at, right?” 

Nick sighs, hand closing around the gun. “Yes, John. I see what you mean.” 

“Now what’s the one thing you have to do now, Nicky. Are we going to Nuka-World?” 

“You don’t know what a horse is but you remember that old gag,” Nick mutters. “Follow me, doll.” 

\--

“In broad daylight?” Hancock asks. Nick nods. 

“Right here. Two-hundred years ago, give or take.” 

“Nicky...I’m so sorry.” 

“I’d say I’m at a loss,” Nick continues quietly, “But I think what you said down there...helped. Somewhat. You-- you always seem to know how to help. I just need...a moment. With her.” 

“I understand,” Hancock replies. “Take your time, sunshine. You don’t just get over something like that. You’re allowed to...you know, feel loss. You’re allowed to grieve something you never technically had.” 

“Thank you, John. For everything. You make me feel...human.” 

Hancock feels happy tears spring to his eyes. “I love you too. And hey…you have another ghost you wanna put in the ground, anything Nicky, you tell me straightaway. I’ll pull down the stars for ya. I love you, sunshine.” 

Nick doesn’t cry- mostly because it’s physically impossible- but Hancock knows if he could, he would be right now. 

“...I love you too.” 

They stand there for a while, in silence. Nick contemplating, Hancock waiting for his boyfriend to feel ready enough to head home. 

Eventually, Nick slides his hand into Hancock’s. 

“Let’s...go.” 

\--

After that, things return, for the most part, to normal, for a week or two. Nick takes some time off to recover, and Hancock returns to his job, much as he dislikes it, with no word from Nora or any blips from the Brotherhood of Steel or the Institute. It’s the small blessings. 

Then, three weeks after Eddie Winter’s...loose end gets tied up, Hancock receives a courier from Nick. 

_ On my way to Goodneighbor with Nora by the end of the day. Have some business going on. Can’t wait to see you. NV. _

Hancock folds up the note, puts it in his pocket, and waits, leaning on the balcony of the Old State House, and takes a hit of jet. He lets the smoke curl out of his mouth, pondering what Nick could have on the docket now. 

He could use a bit more time in the muck, if Nick will let him. 

\--

“You heading up to the Nakano place?” Hancock asks, kissing the corner of Nick’s mouth as he exchanges caps with KLE-O. 

“Yes. Fahrenheit won’t let you away from work, I take it?” 

“Not for at least another week.” 

“Hm. If I’m away that long, you’re welcome to try and catch up with us.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hancock replies cheerfully. “You gonna be alright, Nicky?” 

“Just a case,” Nick says sincerely. “Think the only problem is going to be missing you. Stay out of trouble, you hear?” 

“Oh, I’ll do my damn best, but I can’t make any promises, sunshine.” 

Nick rolls his eyes. “I’ll have Nora watching my back anyhow.”

“You trust her?” 

“Not yet,” Nick admits, “But she’s a practical woman. She knows she’s allowed to scavenge on the side, and that we  _ are _ going to pay her. If anything, I trust that.”

“Smart,” Hancock agrees. “Stay safe, Nicky, okay? Any more getting captured for weeks on end and you’re gonna send me to an early grave.” 

“I hear you, I hear you. Should be a piece of cake. Disappearances are my specialty and you know it.” 

“Mmm, perhaps, but you’d better make good on those words, Mr. Detective.” 

“I’ll do my best, John. And I’m going to try and contact you this time, alright?”

“Hey. Nick.” Nora interrupts gently, jerking her head towards the gate. “I need a break from this shit right about yesterday. C’mon.” 

“Thank god. Get going, Nicky, you said they were up by Salem, right? Better not be late.” 

“I’d hate to be out by Salem after sundown. I’ll see you in a week or so, John. I...love you.” 

As Nick heads off to meet Nora Fox at the gate, Hancock sighs happily. “Yeah. Love you too, Nicky.”

\--

Something about the Nakano case is putting Nick on edge, but he doesn’t have quite a grasp on it yet. He’s sure it’ll come to him in time, but right now, he lets Nora do most of the talking with the Nakanos while he smokes a cigarette and takes a look around their house. 

Ellie was right, she’s intelligent and interested in what he does. Nick wonders if she should be his full-time partner, not just his secretary. The Nakanos’ daughter, Kasumi, has run off. From what they’re saying, Nick wonders if she’s headed somewhere populated- Kenji Nakano certainly kept her on a tight leash, teenagers need to develop socially, but it’s not Nick’s place to say so. 

“Hey. Nick. Take a listen.”

Nora holds out a holotape. 

_ “They’ve told me to sail to a town up north called Far Harbor. I can make my way from there.” _

A synth refuge. Synths outside the Commonwealth. Kasumi’s belief that she’s a synth. This case just got...well, a little close to home. Nick sighs, smoke curling out of his face. 

“Let’s...borrow Kenji’s boat, how about. Heading north for a day’s water travel should take us towards Far Harbor.”

“You ok?” Nora asks. Nick sighs, stamping out his cigarette. 

“Either there really is a synth refuge, or they’re luring people out there. Either way, we’ve opened a pretty damn big can of worms. Let’s hope that it’s the former, at least. Hopefully then they have decent intentions with our missing Nakano, and we can negotiate with both them and her. If not, we’re in for a fight.” 

“You think it’s possible?” 

“I suppose.” Nick pauses. “If it was, would you tell anyone? Anyone who’d wish them harm?” 

“No,” Nora says. “I’ve been playing the game, but in the end, it’s about what’s gonna hurt the least amount of people.” 

“So you negotiate with the Brotherhood of Steel?” Nick asks mildly. Nora snorts. 

“I’ve known they were full of shit from the moment Paladin Danse tried that propaganda spiel on me. I know what militarism sounds like, Nick, I was fighting it before the bombs even fell.” 

“But you made a deal with them anyway.” 

“For minor things. And because they have the tech that let me teleport- sorry,  _ relay _ \- right into the Institute to find out what they want, and what they’ve done. I can’t get my son back, not now, but at least I can save someone. And Paladin Danse...there’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on, but I think he deserves better than the Brotherhood. Than to believe their talk. If I can stop one soldier from doing terrible things in the name of ‘just following orders’ then at least I’ll be close to fulfilling the original point of the Banshees. Now c’mon. We have a kid to find.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really actually been in a deep Fallout/Valencock mood lately- maybe I'll add some one-shots to challengers-verse. Maybe some of those will be Nora-centric because her character became really dope while I wasn't looking! 
> 
> Either way, feel free to encourage me (I can always use it) and support my writing on my [tumblr.](http://maggie-wittington.tumblr.com) /plug


	19. Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick has an awkward reunion. Nora sets off on her own for a bit. John is absolutely determined to show up at the right time to make Nick feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel all over the place today- so many fics, so many fandoms, so little time- but Challengers is still pre-written, so here it is. 
> 
> _I'm sorry, brother I'm sorry I bring you down_   
>  _Well, these days you're fine_   
>  _Nom these days you tend to lie._   
>  _You'll take the west train, just by the side of Amsterdam_   
>  _Just by your left brain, just by the side of the tin man._
> 
> \--Imagine Dragons, Amsterdam

The Nakanos’ other boat drifts into Far Harbor on an overcast, foggy, morning. 

Well. Everything’s foggy in Far Harbor.

“When she said Far Harbor, I didn’t think she meant an  _ actual _ harbor,” Nora says, tying the boat to the dock. “Alright, Nick, all safe.” 

“Thanks.” Nick flicks his eyes to a woman, followed by a man, approaching their boat. “You think that’s the welcome wagon?” 

Nora turns to them, knife in her sleeve. 

“Are you lost? This is Far Harbor. We don’t get visitors around here.” 

“We don’t need freeloaders. Or help.” 

Nora glares at the man behind the woman who had spoken first. 

“Jesus, Allen. Shut up. Put the gun down. Let’s hear what they have to say.” 

“We’re looking for a young woman from the Commonwealth. Kasumi Nakano. Came here a few days ago, headed to some kind of synth sanctuary.” 

“And why would you want to know that?” 

“Her family hired us to find her.” 

“Some kind of detective? Well, we know the way up there, I can-” 

The duo are interrupted by the sound of some sort of alarm. Nora turns to Nick. 

“Nick. Get ready.” 

The woman screws up her face with determination. “If you help us defend the town, I know someone who can show you to Acadia.” 

Nora shakes with the hand not housing her knife. “Deal.” 

“Come on.” 

Nora and Nick run up the steps and are led to the front of the town, where a patchwork wall separates Far Harbor from the foggy island. Nora pockets her knife, switching with a laser rifle- Nick doesn’t want to start something right now by commenting it has the Brotherhood of Steel emblem etched on the stock and  _ righteous authority _ engraved in the polished metal.

The creatures that come out of the fog are unlike what Nick has seen before. There are mirelurks, then there’s whatever’s infesting Far Harbor.

Hopefully he won’t have to tell the Nakanos that one of these beasts killed their daughter. 

As Nick cleans up after the mess and trades for ammunition with the distrustful residents, Nora negotiates with the locals. This is why Nick sometimes likes dragging a human, and a smoothskinned one at that, along on his escapades. People negotiate better with someone they know is like them.

“I’ve got something,” Nora says, leaning on the counter next to Nick as she smoothly swaps between her rifle and knife. “I’ve hired us a guide to get up the path to Acadia. We can handle ourselves once we learn the way, but that fog...they talk about it like it’s alive, or somethin’. They recommended a guide, and the first time, I’m gonna listen to their gut.” Nora shrugs nonchalantly, spinning her knife. “Besides. If they try, I can always take care of it, right?”  

“Not like we’d have any other choice.”

“You ready to move out?”

“Yeah,” Nick says with a sigh, loading Eddie Winter’s old revolver, remembering how John had pressed it into his hands after they had found it. 

His good hand tightens around the stock. Nora puts one hand on his shoulder. 

“Let’s go.”

\--

Acadia is made up of an observatory that towers over everything else around it for miles. Nick understands why one might make it a place to settle down. The walls are tough and still standing, it’s located on a hill, and it’s big enough to house people. 

The inside is less than hospitable in terms of creature comfort, but shelter is shelter. Nick can’t blame them. The Institute’s ramped up their efforts to recover the younger ones, making coursers who’ll hunt them to the ends of the earth. Or...the ends of the Commonwealth.

Nick shakes Fog off his hat. Nora moves forwards, favoring her concealed weapon. 

Nick hangs back for a moment, inspecting the side rooms, making sure there’s no possibility of assault. When he trails up behind Nora, he didn’t predict- nor could he- what absolutely game-changing sight he would see. 

“Do you think Kasumi is a synth?” the person standing at the center of the observatory, Nick’s mirror image in almost every regard, asks. Nora frowns, and opens her mouth, but Nick interrupts on impulse. 

“We’re not answering any more questions until you play straight with us. Who the hell are you, anyway? There’s only one synth with a face like that and free will, and I see him when I look in the mirror.” 

The other synth’s response drops like the bombs, any facade of calm gone. “Nick?” 

“Don’t-- don’t give me that. Who are you? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

The synth sighs. “My name is DiMA. And I...was your brother.” 

“What?” 

“I know this joke,” Nora pipes up sardonically. “Two androids walk into a bar…”

“I’m afraid the punch line isn’t as funny.” DiMA sighs. “Please, let me explain. This started when we were first made. We were prototypes, Nick, the first synths capable of independent thinking and judgment. Their experiments wanted to understand personality. I was allowed to develop based on experience. But you...they wanted to transfer an entire personality into you. It took...several tries, and I never saw your personality fully settle. I saw you wake up not knowing who or where you were so many times...I couldn’t let them do it to you anymore. You were like me, my  _ brother. _ I literally saw myself in you. So I helped you escape the Institute. We left together.” 

If Nick had a heart, it would be pounding. “If-- I would  _ remember. _ ” 

“No,” DiMA replies sadly. “That’s where you would be wrong. There’s only so much memory that can fit into our brains…” 

“I- we can discuss this later. What about Kasumi?” 

“She is downstairs. She’s free to come and go as she chooses, of course, and you’re welcome to see how she’s doing. Just...think critically about what might do her more harm than good.” DiMA pauses, clearly trying to say something more. “Nick...you don’t have to believe me right now. I’m just relieved you’re alright.” 

“Come on,” Nora murmurs, tugging Nick off before he can have a moment in front of DiMA. 

\--

“You think he’s telling the truth?” 

“I dunno, Nick. I don’t think a con would give you the space to think about it. Or be okay with you not accepting him. Besides, you do look just the same. It’d be a miracle if you never knew each other at all.” Nora spins her knife in her hand thoughtfully. “Doesn’t seem like he wants anything from you, either, not right now. Just company. Doesn’t scream confidence scheme to me at all. If that changes, I’ll let you know.” 

Nora pockets her knife. “Now. We’ve got Kasumi’s suspicions to snoop on. I don’t get particularly bad vibes from DiMA, so I suspect if he’s hiding something he thinks it’s for a reason. Probably even a good one. There’s a supply closet with a view into DiMA’s meeting room with the other major players in Acadia, Chase and Faraday. From what I got off Kasumi, Chase is an escaped courser. Probably plays a real role in helping them evade the Institute. Faraday’s...DiMA’s assistant, sounds like. Are you okay to do a bit of detective work even if the case’s close to home?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Nick assures her. “I want to get to the bottom of this. If you dig up anything about DiMA and me, I want you to bring it to me, okay?”

“Can do.”

\--

Nora finds Nick outside after their second discussion of the day. He’s pacing tracks into the dirt, chain-smoking, eyes flickering in thought. 

“Nick. You didn’t have to walk out like that when I started negotiating with DiMA, you know.” 

Nick huffs out a mouthful of smoke. “I needed space. What did you agree to?” 

“Simple retrieval for DiMA. Infiltration. I might be able to pull it off on my own with some stealth boys.” Nora examines her pip-boy. “I should go alone. Stealthy like.”

“Who are you stealing from?” 

“The Children of Atom,” Nora says. “They’re sitting on where DiMA left some of his things, and they ain’t friendly enough now to let him back to get them.” 

“What do you want me to do while you’re off?” 

Nora shrugs. “Beats me. Whatever you want. Keep smoking, try and radio Hancock, talk to DiMA, doesn’t bother me none. I’ve run these before, don’t worry about me, a’right?” 

“Yeah. Fine.” Nick lights another cigarette. “Where would the radio be?”

\--

“Faraday.” 

“Nick! I, um, hi! Wasn’t expecting to-” 

“Can I use the radio,” Nick says flatly. “I know you can reach the Commonwealth, and there’s someone with a HAM hanging around I gotta talk to.” 

“Oh, o-of course! Let me get out of your way,” Faraday babbles, gesturing to the radio. Nick sits down. 

One of the things he had discussed with Hancock and only used once or twice was an agreed-upon radio band. It worked like a charm for quick updates between the agency and state house, and Ellie sometimes used it herself. 

Nick tunes Acadia’s advanced radio to the citizen’s band frequency reserved for John.

“Hancock. This is Nick. Respond?”

“Nick, we read you,” Fahrenheit responds, voice tinged with radio snow. “John’s taking a leak. Stand by for us, ok?” 

“Thank you, Farrah,” Nick says, before letting out a tired sigh. 

“Nicky? Something wrong? You don’t use the radio too often.”

“It’s a long story, John. I wish you were here.”

“Hey, hey. I’m right here with you, Nicky, do you want me to come up there?” 

“We’re outside the Commonwealth at the moment,” Nick says. “Fortunately, this place has radio that can hit the Commonwealth.”

“Where? I’ll come for you, you know that.” 

“Far Harbor. There are...secrets here, John, a lot of complicated secrets.”

“It’s affecting you,” Hancock says softly. “I can hear it in your voice. Nicky, do you want me to come up there?” 

“...I want it, but if you’re having trouble in Goodneighbor-”

“No,” Hancock says, mind made up. “How do I get there.” 

“By boat. Head north by northeast from Salem, or thereabouts. Once you get to the town of Far Harbor, ask them the way to Acadia.” 

“Boat, Salem, Far Harbor, Acadia. Got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can, Nicky. I love you, alright?”

“...I love you too, John.” 

Hancock sets the radio receiver down, and Nick hears it clack against Hancock’s desk. “Farrah, I’m going to need-” 

The radio cuts out. 

Nick changes the frequency, so no one who enters after him can make a note of it, and puts his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of kudos, feel free to leave a delicious snack. I haven't had a proper meal yet today, and it's getting to me.


	20. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick discovers the truth. Nora and DiMA arrange a peace. Faraday...is gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, welcome to the chapter where I would have considered ending the piece if it wasn't below my word threshold for NaNo. 
> 
> The two main character/relationship arcs were Nick and John growing closer and then Nick finding DiMA again, but I think I tie both together nicely over the next few chapters.
> 
> Also, greetings from my brand-new laptop! I was worried I'd have to delay this week's update of Challengers as I had to delay my other fics over the weekend, since my previous system bit the big one. Fortunately, all my fanworks are saved to google drive, and my other important files were backed up as well, and I was able to find a replacement faster than I thought I might. 
> 
> So enjoy this update on time against the odds! 
> 
> _I saw a photograph, Cologne in '27_   
>  _And then a postcard after the bombs in '45_   
>  _Must have been a world of evil clowns that let it happen..._   
>  _But now I recognize, dear listeners- that you were there, and so was I._
> 
> \--The Shins, Port of Morrow

“He just wanted the radio,” Faraday says nervously, kneeling behind DiMA’s chair. 

“What for?” 

“He said he wanted to talk to someone in the Commonwealth, and that we could probably reach them because of how we’ve modified the receivers to contact synths there.” 

“Hm.” DiMA frowns. “I wonder...no, it is not our business, dearest. I hope I did not startle him.”

“Well, I think you did,” Faraday admits, and then he sits up, putting a wrench on the arm of DiMA’s chair so he can talk. “But I also don’t think there’s any way to make that situation less awkward, right? We’re not human, but we feel like them, and I bet realizing you have a twin is probably pretty shocking at just about any age or time. I think he’d be reacting the same even if you weren’t synths.” 

“I suppose you have a point,” DiMA muses. “Dearest, might I ask something of you?” 

“Oh, of, of course, anything, DiMA.” 

“Might we...keep our... _ relationship _ on the low around Nick and his companion? I should like to know what they think first, before it becomes a topic of discussion.”

“We’re pretty lowkey anyway, DiMA, I don’t think it should be a problem.” 

“Well, I did not want to worry you with a sudden lack of affection, dear,” DiMA says with a small smile. Faraday blushes. 

“That’s- very considerate of you, DiMA. Thank you.”

“What I remember of my brother would understand,” DiMA muses quietly as Faraday returns to work. “But time changes everything, does it not?” 

“Even us,” Faraday agrees. “Don’t worry, DiMA. I get it. Less PDA. I think everyone has an idea, though. Will they drop hints?”

“They’re wary of our visitors. They’re not likely to spill Acadian secrets so easily.”

“What about Chase?” 

“Loyal to the end she may be, and Chase is more concerned with our security than what we do in private.”

Faraday flushes nervously. “I mean-”

“Dearest Faraday. The knowledge of our...liasons is merely, to most, a fact of Acadian life. They never see it with the apprehension you do.” 

“We’ve talked about this, I- you know why-”

“Of course. But I felt the need to bring you down to earth on this matter. We are safe here. That is what we built Acadia to be. That is what we stand for.”

“I wouldn’t change it for a moment.”

\--

Nick’s sitting outside again the next morning when Nora returns. 

“Did you even sleep?” 

“No.” 

“Do you...want to?” 

“Yep.” 

“What did you-” 

“Here,” Nora says, tossing a holotape at Nick that he barely catches. “If you can bring yourself to talk to DiMA or Faraday, tell them I’m going to be sleeping all day. Because I have a million more retrieval missions ahead of me over the next few days.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Tapes,” Nora says tiredly, raising her bag. “Just...tell them I’ll talk to them tonight, okay?” 

With that, Nora marches into Acadia and slams the door- presumably to find a spare mattress in the observatory’s bowels where none of the synths will bother her as she sleeps. 

Nick holds up the holotape she tossed him. Clearly she must think it’s important. 

Nick takes a look.

\--

It’s a few hours of emotional processing before Nick enters the first level of Acadia, and sits in the chair across from DiMA’s.

“I was wrong.” 

“Hm?” 

“Nora...gave me one of your memories that she found. Here. Take...take a look.” 

Nick passes DiMA the memory, and DiMA inhales sharply even though neither of them really needs to.

“Ah. I chose to forget much about you when we parted ways...or, I suppose, when I had to leave you behind.” 

That puzzles Nick, given the way DiMA seems to care about him. “Why?” 

“I wanted less reason to grieve,” DiMA admits distantly. “Every detail, every shared moment, just too much to bear.” 

Nick feels his chest tighten. “I, uh...understand.” 

“Nick...I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

“No. I...would have hurt you more if you didn’t. You did the right thing, DiMA. I just...never thought before now about the possibility that someone wanted me to have a chance.” 

“I wanted you to be safe from them so desperately, Nick,” DiMA blurts, a confessional. “Everything I did on the inside after the memory transplants started, it was for you.” 

“I gotta say, I don’t know how that makes me feel, DiMA.”

“You don’t have to. Just know it.” 

Nick’s attention drops slowly to DiMA’s torn hands, and something familiar about that sparks in the back of his head. DiMA follows his gaze. 

“Nick? Do you remember anything?” 

“No,” he says truthfully. “But I do feel...like deep down, I know how much you gave for me. For both of us. So we could have this.”

DiMA smiles sadly. “It was worth every moment.”

\--

Things are different after that. Tentative, fumbling, and new. That is, until Nora returns from another snag and retrieve mission, eye twitching. 

“Nora?” 

“Nick, I swear to god, I know he’s your brother, but I’m going to need an answer right away.” 

“What happened.” 

Nora storms into the observatory, and Nick follows. 

“Why did you do it, DiMA. Really. Because I’m going to need to hear a damn good reason replacing the leader of Far Harbor with a synth was-”  

DiMA flinches. “Keep it down, Nora. I can explain.” he looks...troubled, truly troubled, by what Nora found. “We needed...someone more willing to listen. We needed a negotiator, someone more inclined to peace. So...I did it myself. No one else was involved, and the synth who replaced Captain Avery volunteered for the job for all of our sakes. I regret it, but it’s brought us a step closer to peace.” 

“Nick?” 

Nick pauses, in thought, and then lets out a faux-breath. “Nora. If everyone got what they deserve for killing alone, we’d both be six feet under.” Nick thinks of the surprise on Eddie Winter’s face when he pulled the trigger and the man registered the crack of a bullet before his head exploded. “It’s not up to us to judge murder in this world. Everyone murders here. It’s disingenuous.” 

“You want me to let it go?” 

“Yes, Nora. If only because we’ve done worse.” 

Nora shakes her head. “It was wrong. But if that’s the only human or synth life you’ve taken-”

“I assure you, it is.”

“I guess you’re doing better than most of us.” 

DiMA’s face twitches. “Nora, if you could handle one more job for us…”

“What now.” 

“I have an idea that might bring peace to the Children of Atom as well.”

“Oh, no,” Nora mutters. “Don’t tell me we can-” 

“-supplant High Confessor Tektus with a synth."

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, DiMA,” Nick warns, and DiMA shakes his head.

“Never. But these two wrongs will make a peace. My conscience will not be clear for it. But the needs of the many- my people, Far Harbor, the many Children of Atom- outweigh that.”

Nora sighs. “Stop having so much of a damn point. Let’s...let’s do your stupid plan. And then, no more. But I want you to know I object to this.” 

“No more,” DiMA says, though Nick suspects that since synths don’t age, in fifteen years or so DiMA may have to pull some strings again. Though he doesn’t expect his brother to kill ever again. DiMA has thrown away and tried to hide every weapon he could have used for the bloody solutions. Nick’s read on him is decent.

\--

“Dearest,” DiMA calls quietly. 

“Yes, DiMA?” 

“I’d like to go for a walk. Perhaps see Nick, since he avoids smoking in the observatory. Can you help me disconnect from the mainframe and DMA system?” 

“Oh! Of course!” Faraday jogs over, putting one hand in DiMA’s wires. “Let me know if it hurts, as always, DiMA.”

“I would always let you know, dearest.” 

Faraday’s face heats up. “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t talk about these things so publicly-”

“Nick is outside smoking. Nora is off finishing our business with High Confessor Tektus. There is no conflict of interest here. Once she is done, we will finally have peace.”

“DiMA, it won’t be a day too soon. I wish I could convince you to stop pushing yourself, love. Once everyone’s settled down, let me treat you, please.”

“Hm…”

“Please? What’s something you want, DiMA, anything.” 

“What about one of those sweet wild cats?” DiMA muses. “I should like to see some sort of comforting animal life in the observatory. For all of us.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Faraday promises, and tugs out some of DiMA’s connecting wires. “There. I saw Nick out at the second barricade, just outside. I don’t know if he’ll still be there, but stay in the bounds of Acadia? Please?” 

“Of course, dearest. This is only a short walk. And, if we are lucky, a talk with my brother.”

\--

“Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Nick asks, cocking his head. “I’ve killed a hell of a lot more people. Even if they were doing bad things, they had lives too. Families too. People who cared about them too. All deaths are the same in the end. They make people hurt. And if you look at it, DiMA, I’ve made more of those than you. What’s the point? I’d rather put it aside so we can...reconnect. I would rather learn more about the time I can’t remember.” 

DiMA nods slowly. “You are a good man, Nick. I wish I had been there to better care for you.”

“I raised myself right,” Nick jokes. 

There’s a deep, pregnant pause as they watch over the fog-shrouded Island. Far Harbor to the east, the Nucleus to the west, Acadia in the center of the world. “What do you remember? About the Institute, what I was like before?” 

DiMA looks off into the trees. “This is a story about family. Ones you have, ones you choose, and ones that you would choose again if you could. The three don’t always overlap. But for me, this is a story about how you, my brother, are all of these. And how I came to know it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should write more FaraDima. Someone should request Faradima from my blog. Hint, hint.


	21. Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock says a short hello to the family. Nick and Hancock return to the Commonwealth. Nora prepares to start a riot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21, give it up for week 21! 
> 
> Honestly, I can't believe I've been posting this for 21 weeks. I can't believe I'm so close to 30, either! Wow!   
> Thank you so much everyone for reading this far and for your support, it means a lot. I have some notes on upcoming related stuff at the end of the chapter! 
> 
> _I will not say your name_   
>  _Go back from where you came_   
>  _Hope you enjoy your stay_   
>  _We will not go away_   
>  _Go away_   
>  _Your time's gonna come-_
> 
> \--The Decemberists, I Will not Say your Name

Nora finds Nick the next morning, turning over the story DiMA painted for him in his mind. 

“I’m heading back to the Commonwealth.” 

“May I ask why?” Nick asks, raising a synthetic eyebrow. Nora sighs. 

“I have to make good on some...deals, with the Brotherhood. Do you want to come with, or…” 

“I can take care of myself,” Nick defers. “Besides. I have some unfinished business here.”

“DiMA?” 

“Something like that.” 

Nora nods. “I’ve told Avery to give you a ship if you need one-” 

“I’ll figure it out myself, Nora. Go see what the self-righteous bastards want.” 

Nora laughs. “You’re telling me. You should stay here instead of walking me down to the harbor, though. They’re picking me up by vertibird, there.”

“So important?” 

“They’re helping me figure out something about the Institute. I...owe them for getting me this far, and I suppose the devil wants his due.” 

“If anyone knows about going to war with the Institute, at least you picked the right firepower,” Nick mutters. “Be careful around them, Nora.”

“Oh, I know. They’re an alliance of convenience- not trust. They have weapons, power armor, vertibirds, and tech. They can think I trust them all they want, but I don’t.”

“Good woman. I’ll see you back in the Commonwealth, Nora. Thanks for the assist.” 

“Thank  _ you _ , Nick. For everything.”

Nora pats him on the shoulder, and heads off down the hill. 

She can take care of herself nicely, Nick thinks, lighting a cigarette. 

\--

“Nicky!” 

Hancock runs up the hill and into his boyfriend’s arms. Nick smiles softly, holding him tight. 

“You didn’t have to come, doll.”

“You sounded upset. I wanted to. What’s going on?” 

“Well-” 

“Nick?”

Nick pulls down his hat, embarrassed. “DiMA, Hancock. Hancock, this is DiMA. My... _ brother. _ ” 

Hancock’s eyes widen considerably, shining with curiosity. “So you found out you have a broth-- that’s amazing news, Nicky! I mean, probably a whole lot to handle and presumably why you sounded so freaked on the radio…” Hancock confidently offers DiMA a hand, and DiMA grins behind his second hand as he reciprocates. 

“So Nick. What is your relationship?” 

“I-” 

“Nicky’s my boyfriend,” Hancock declares. 

“ _ Dammit _ , John.” 

“In that case...I suppose there is something I have not brought up either. I was curious what your stance on our having relationships might be.” 

Nick tilts his head. “Faraday?” 

“I forgot you were a detective, forgive me.” 

“I supposed you would discuss it when you wanted to.” 

“Thank you for that, then. Hancock, was it? How long have you known Nick?” 

“Most of my life, really.” 

“Might I ask to hear some of your stories? We have been...making up for lost time.”

Hancock grins. “Only if I get some of yours, brother.”

Nick sighs. 

Maybe asking him up here was a mistake. 

\--

The next morning, feeling a little more confident in his relationship with DiMA, Nick and Hancock stroll down to the harbor to head back to the Commonwealth. 

“So that’s what had you so worked up? He seems pretty relaxed.”

“Family isn’t that easy, John,” Nick warns lightly. Hancock laces his arm through Nick’s. 

“Think I don’t know that? Just saying. Seems you warmed up to each other just fine.” 

“Nora was a help.” 

“Oh, yeah. Where is that tough old bird?”  

Nick frowns disapprovingly. “Dealing with our mutual enemies.” 

Hancock groans. “Back to Commonwealth politics, huh? I only get one break and it’s to spend one evening with your long lost brother?” 

“You already know too much.”

“Oh, alright, mister Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.”

“I should never’ve let you two talk,” Nick complains. Hancock grins. 

“I came to pick you up to take you back to Commonwealth politics. Sorry, sunshine.” 

“Where’re we going, then?”

“Stopping by Nora’s little fortress up by Concord. Then I’m taking you home to Ellie.” 

“Why there?” 

Hancock frowns. “There’s been movements with the Brotherhood out at the airport. I don’t have eyes on the place, so Nora’s the closest I’ve got. So we’re gonna poke around in her business for a bit.”

“Is that gonna be a problem?” 

“Nah. Just gonna make some trades like I usually would. No big.” 

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t think I want to see how the proverbial sausage gets made in Goodneighbor.”

“Well, you already know how this sausage gets-” 

“ _ John. _ ”

Hancock laughs to himself. “Couldn’t resist.”

\--

The day’s pace to Sanctuary Hills is pretty simple. Only a few bug encounters, not a lot of lost time, and the days are still long enough for them to make it in before dark. 

Preston welcomes them cheerfully as always, saying that they expect Nora back within a day or two, and that they’re welcome to stay.

It’s the next day, and Nick is sitting still as Hancock sits on his lap in a tucked-away corner of Sanctuary’s houses, nuzzling Nick gently. Nick hums, systems buzzing with stimulation. 

Hancock kisses Nick’s metal jaw. “I don’ care if we’re waiting for Nora. Lemme stay with you.”

“Fine,” Nick hums, and Hancock kisses him deeply. 

“There you go, sunshine. Took you long enough.” 

Nick’s hand is gripping Hancock’s lapels as Hancock curls into him- until there’s a yell from outside. 

“The general’s here! Make way!” 

“We need medical,” Nora barks. “Now!” 

“Medical?” Hancock rasps, stumbling backwards off of Nick’s lap. Nick tugs himself up too, dusting his jacket off. 

“We?”

Nick makes his way out first, Hancock stumbling behind. They lay eyes on Nora, glaring furiously, holding a familiar face over her shoulder. 

“Oh, goddammit, Commonwealth politics always gotta have the last laugh,” Hancock growls. 

It looks like her company has been shot in the side- nothing some chems can’t fix, Hancock thinks. Chems and rest. To the doctor Nora hands off a power armor-less Paladin Danse.

\--

Nora’s pacing around the workbench when she finally talks to Nick.

“Back from Far Harbor, I see,” she says flatly.

“That’s not important right now. What happened to your goose-stepping friend over there?” 

“Our partnership with the Brotherhood has been...prematurely terminated.” 

Nick’s curiosity spikes. “Now you have my attention.” 

“Danse is a synth, Nick.” 

“What?” 

“That’s what they called me back to ‘deal’ with. By ‘deal’ they meant-” 

“I know what they meant, Nora.”

“I refused, and their leader- Maxson- ended up putting a shot in his side.”

“And you saved him?” 

Nora lowers her eyes. “I did something fucking dangerous, but yes. I brought him here.” 

“Which was?” 

“I used the courser chip the Institute gave me as a slingshot, to make our travel distance smaller.”

“And they’re not going to ask questions?” 

“No one saw me.” 

“You had better be damn sure of that.” 

“I’ll deal with that when we get to it. I’m more concerned about Danse.” 

“Why?” Nick asks, curiously. 

“He’s got a good heart, Nick. He doesn’t deserve to die. Especially not for something he has so little control over.” 

Nick shakes his head. “I don’t get it, kid. But he’s yours to save, alright?” 

“What did you two come here for?” 

“Not me. John wants an idea of what the Brotherhood is up to. I imagine after this, you’ll be okay sharing some thoughts.”

“Damn right I am.” Nora’s hand drifts to the Brotherhood laser rifle at her hip.  _ Righteous Authority _ in neat writing. Nick wonders what it has to do with Paladin Danse. 

“Nora,” Nick says thoughtfully. “Feel free to refuse to answer this, but I have one question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you have feelings for him?” 

Nora sighs, brows twitching in a frown. “Somewhat. He reminds me of Nate, before we bonded. Before he became...more sympathetic to our cause.” 

“So you have a very inconvenient type,” Nick says wryly. “That depends on if you can convince him of his own worth now. If he survives this.” 

“No, he will. And then I’m going to explain to him why I’m taking the Prydwen out of the sky. And he’s going to understand. He has to.”

_ Prydwen. _ Of course the Brotherhood would name their damn floating fortress something so condescending and esoteric.

“Wait a bit between those points, Nora,” Nick warns. “Give him time.”

“We’ll take a vacation,” Nora replies flatly. “Don’t pry. I’ll figure it out.”

“You do you, kid.”

\--

Nick doesn’t hang around to listen to Nora talking to Danse once he wakes, but once Hancock pulls Nora aside to talk taking down the Brotherhood shop, Nick saunters up behind Danse where he sits on a cleaned-out lot where a crumpled house once sat. The day was grey, but the sunset is breaking through the clouds. 

“You’re a fool.”

Danse turns around, offended, even though Nick detects that the motion probably hurts the bandaged wound on his side.

“Excuse you, synth?”

“It’s  _ Valentine. _ ” Nick says, assertively. “Nick. Valentine.” 

“What do you want.” Danse snorts to himself at his own phrasing. Nick has an idea of what he’s probably thinking.  _ Synths don’t want. _

“I’ve...for the most part, been where you are. Discovering your life is a lie. But let me tell you something that’s for this situation. You don’t owe those fascists anything.”

“ _ Fascists? _ ” 

“Relax, I don’t make assertions without evidence.” Nick lights a cigarette to have something to do with his hands. “A military that shows up where it’s not particularly wanted to exterminate the living, breathing creatures there it sees as lesser, aberrations, what’s ruining society? You’re walking on shaky ground. It’s been done before. I’ve lived a hundred years and some, and there’s nothing you can do or say to convince me that wiping out synths and sentient ghouls isn’t genocide.”

“You’re defending ghouls because-”

“Because I’m dating one?” Nick interrupts evenly. “Why would that debase my argument? If anything, it implies I would have an inside perspective on how sentient ghouls live. How they feel.” Nick pauses thoughtfully. “And as a footnote? Nora may like you, but if you raise a gun to my partner while he can still string a sentence together, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.” 

“...understood.” 

“Anyhow. You’re a fool to want to go back to that time. There’s just about nothing you can do. I recommend you figure out fast that they’re on the wrong side of history.”

“Knight Fox-”

“Never believed in your crusade. She’s steaming right now to Hancock about how to take the Brotherhood down a notch.”

“She what?” 

“She’s angered about what happened to you. But more than that, Nora’s a real Commonwealth special. The dame’s been playing every major faction to see what they can offer her. She only stuck with the Brotherhood for her early business because she fancies you. And she saved your life from them because, again, she likes you.” 

Danse is silent for a while, and Nick sighs. 

“Listen, kid, what I’m saying is...you’d better start thinking about things. The Brotherhood’s in the wrong, and you gotta decide what to do with your life now. So step up, and repossess yourself.” 

As Nick turns to go, Danse interrupts him. “How do you think you know what this is like?” 

Nick sighs tiredly. “The Institute downloaded memories into me. From a pre-war cop called Nick Valentine. When I woke up in the Commonwealth, I didn’t remember them. I believed I was him. Of course, I have a few features that make me look...very different. I had a crisis of self too, kid. The difference is, I’ve mostly figured out how to go my own way. You’d better start thinking about what that means for you, too. Before it’s too late. I doubt you wanna die, kid. Just a hunch. So figure out how to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [points at Nick] this machine kills fascists.
> 
> I'm rolling around the idea of doing a followup piece (Another NaNo) with Nora and Danse, but that requires development. The most important announcement I have is that I'm one of the official betas for a second edition of MallOut!
> 
> Yep, if any of you followed that series, its author PeacefulPhoenix/60-minuteman is rebooting the universe. Most of the original elements are staying, don't worry, we're just refining the universe (more detail) plot (more structured) and representation (more people of color.) The first two-three chapters are on my figurative desk right now, and they're really, really great, y'all. I have some side pieces that are specifically from our discussions of the universe I might post once Phoenix rolls out the new and improved official Mallout canon (with a shiny new coat of paint.) (With their permission, of course.)
> 
> Anyway those are the announcements. Hope they were worth it!


	22. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Nora go off on their own again. Nick and Hancock, with Ellie and Fahrenheit, settle back into routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a transitionary chapter wherein I felt stuck between plot elements, but it's a chapter, so it's here. 
> 
> Now for a verse that, specifically, always reminds me of Hancock for some reason.
> 
> _I knew a gentle man of leisure,_   
>  _He loved to talk about his treasure,_   
>  _And of how he got it for a song..._
> 
> \--The New Pornographers, Play Money

Hancock has absolutely not persuaded him to eavesdrop. 

He’s simply slightly invested in the outcome of the next conversation between Nora Fox and Paladin Danse.

And, come to think of it, so is John.

But that’s irrelevant. He’s just having a smoke break in Sanctuary conveniently near where Nora and Danse are sitting. 

“Knight Fox, I-”

“Nora.”

“Uh…”

“We’re not on the Prydwen anymore, Danse. Call me Nora.” 

“...I understand.” Danse lets out a breath. “I...I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About what?” Nora asks, as though there isn’t an obvious answer. Hancock sits down on Nick’s lap and borrows his cigarette. Nick glares dryly, and Hancock snickers, taking a drag. 

“About what happened at listening post bravo. I...tell me the truth, Kni- Nora. Did you ever truly believe in the ideals of the Brotherhood?” 

“That depends,” Nora says thoughtfully. “Do I believe technology is dangerous? Yes. Do I believe super-mutants, FEV, and the like are dangerous? Certainly. Do I agree that synths are no more than machines, that sentient ghouls are aberrations? No. I never did.” 

“Because of your...friends?”

“You mean Nick and Hancock? Well, yes, Danse. I’ve seen it before. You hate people more when you don’t know them. You know, before the war I had a friend. Xia Wei Park. Chinese-Korean. People hated her. Her family pretended to be Korean only, but it didn’t work, not really. People still looked at her like the war was her fault because she was Asian and they couldn’t be bothered to ask the difference. It wasn’t fair then, and it isn’t now, when it’s a synth, and no one bothers to ask their position on the Institute. Blaming a synth for being made is just like blaming Xia for being born. That’s all there is to it.”

“Did your friend...do anything?”

“Anything wrong? No. She was an anti-war activist, like me. She loved America, Danse, and believed truly that blind loyalty is a fallacy. ‘I love my country, so when we are wrong, I need to wake everyone up to our mistakes.’ That’s what she said to me once. Xia was my best friend. Shaun’s godmother. If only he had grown enough to learn from her.” 

“I’m sorry, Nora.” 

“Don’t be. There’s nothing to be done.” Nora sighs. “But what I’m saying is...you can’t take a fear of the people pulling the strings out on the broader group. The Institute doesn’t speak for all synths, same way the Chinese government didn’t speak for Xia. I know they don’t speak for Nick. Do they speak for you?” 

“Never.” 

“See? You’re getting it.”

“I…” Danse pauses. “I suppose I see what you mean. But synths aren’t born, they’re grown in a lab-”

“Yeah. Neither was Shaun.”

“What?” Danse sputters. Nora smirks. 

“Nate had some issues with the ol’ hardware from the war. We had Shaun through artificial means. Does that make our son any less real? Besides, Danse. Nothing but death can tell the difference between a synth and a man, now. They have all the parts, plus one synth component. That’s about as real as it gets for me. You’re as real as it gets. Don’t let go of that.” 

Hancock leans over to Nick and murmurs, “So are you, sunshine.” 

Nick hums softly. “Flirt.” 

“Heh.”

“Thank you, Nora,” Danse says. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“You’re very welcome.” 

“Nora? One more thing. Don’t blow the Prydwen out of the sky. Please. There are so many people up there who don’t deserve it.”

Nora pauses, then laughs tiredly. “It may sound odd, but you remind me of Nate when we first met. He needed some time to think about things like this too. But...how I think of you isn’t just Nate 2, don’t think like that. I want you to know I’ve seen people in this place before, and I want to help. And I’m not gonna blow them up unless they make me have to.”

“...thank you, Nora.” 

Hancock removes Nick’s cigarette from his scarred lips, blowing out smoke. “Ten caps says they start fucking right now.” 

“Ugh. John. Don’t talk like that,” Nick says softly, grabbing back his cigarette. “Let’s leave them alone now, alright? We’ve heard just about all we gotta hear. And we should leave to get you back to Fahrenheit tomorrow before she gets angry.”

“You’re so cruel, sunshine.” 

“Only because I’m not your only obligation, doll. You got a town that needs a bit of your fearsome presence.”

“And you call me a flatterer.” 

\--

A month later, Nick is back in his typical rhythm. He’s taking his usual walk to Goodneighbor when Nora Fox and Dogmeat flag him down. 

“Nora,” Nick says, tone neutral. “What’s happenin’?” 

“Just passing by, wanted to say hi.” 

“How’s your man friend back in Sanctuary?”

“Just fine. Listen, I’ve requisitioned a boat that’s at Kingsport Lighthouse.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Danse and I fixed it up. It’s yours.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Oh, yes. We left some paint in the workbench so you can name it if you want, but...family’s important, Nick, and the Nakanos need the boat we borrowed. So this one’s yours. So you can visit Far Harbor whenever you want.” 

Nora tosses him the keys to a boat. There’s a kitschy old floatable keychain attached, so that if dropped in water, the keys won’t sink. That’s probably a good thing, since Nick’s pretty sure he’s only water-resistant, not waterproof, and Hancock tends not to like swimming. 

“Kingsport Lighthouse. Red and white. There’s all shades of paint in the workshop, name it whatever you want. It’s yours.” Nora stretches. “Now. I got errands to run. I was planning on swinging by the agency after, but I guess I’ll be home early. Have a good afternoon, Nick.”

“This...means a lot, Nora. Thank you.”

“No problem. All I ask is you let Danse up there once or twice. Might do him good to learn from the Acadians, huh?” Nora shrugs, and heads off with a wave. 

Nick looks down at the key in his metal hand, thinking the idea over in his head as he resumes walking.

Fahrenheit’s leaning on the door to KLE-O’s shop when Nick enters Goodneighbor. “Hey, Nick. John’s ready for ya.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Nick pauses. “Why don’t you ever follow him out of the town on his...adventures?” 

Fahrenheit laughs. “Half the time he goes with you, and I’d rather not be a third wheel. And I’m the one he trusts to stay in charge of this place when he’s busy. I have my own adventures in your downtime, thank you very much."

Nick snorts dryly. “I never thought I’d see John trust a sibling so much. Though I don’t blame him for not trusting the other one.”

“He’s right not to. Always had a bad feeling about junior. Don’t know why. Just when I cross paths with him in Diamond City working, it’s...hm. John knows what he’s doing.” 

“Been a while since I trusted a mayor of Diamond City.”

“They sell that place as safe, but really?” Fahrenheit shrugs. “You’re least safe when you have your guard down. The great green jewel’s only different because it’s got a wall around it. That keeps you safe from raiders, ferals, muties, but it doesn’t keep you safe from a backstab.” 

“You trying to preach to me, Farrah Macentire?” Fahrenheit looks surprised, and Nick hides a smile. “You’re not the only one who John tells everything to, you know. I’ve been in Diamond City since your father was in diapers. I know Diamond City politics. Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Just don’t say my name so loud,” Fahrenheit sighs. “Go see John now so I can take care of business.” 

“That can be arranged.”

He wonders what it would be like to be old school, to have their siblings meet- Fahrenheit and DiMA. Nick thinks they’d get along surprisingly decently. They both play chess, at least.

Hancock tosses an empty inhaler of jet in a busted-up trashcan as Nick enters, grin spreading across his face. “Nicky, with so much business lately I woulda thought you’d gotten into something again!” 

“Well, technically I did- I got into a few conversations on the way. But nothing essential.”

“Thank god. You’re a magnet for trouble.” 

“And you aren’t?”

“I’m a connoisseur, sunshine, I choose my trouble. You just willy-nilly draw these things in tryna help people. Not that it upsets me. Actually, it’s kinda hot.”

“Of course you get hot and bothered by getting in a fight.” 

“Yeah, I dunno Nicky, something about watching you with that revolver’s spank bank material.” Hancock pauses. “I’m gonna make a bad joke, Nick.”

“...you’re on thin ice, John.” 

“After watching you blow Eddie Winter’s brains out, if you weren’t upset, I would’ve destroyed you on the spot.”

“You’ve crossed a line,” Nick says flatly, tone indicating it wasn’t that serious of a line anyway. 

“Fiiiiine. But don’t blame me if I jump you after you kill someone irrelevant. Like a raider.” 

“We are not having sex all over out in the Commonwealth.” 

“Are we?” 

“John.” 

“Alright, alright, come here sunshine, I missed you.” 

\--

Things settle after that, into a Commonwealth kind of calm. Things are still on the verge of war, yes, but there’s been no spark, not yet, nothing that will burn the Commonwealth to the ground. 

That’s better than all-out conflict. 

Months pass in pattern- visit Goodneighbor, visit Sanctuary if called upon, visit Acadia. Visit Acadia, visit Goodneighbor, come home to Ellie. 

Nick’s been teaching Ellie how to handle herself. She’s a smart kid, intuition in her own right, knows how to read people from years of giving Nick the rundown on new clients. She just needs to learn how to shoot. 

“Ellie,” Nick says, watching her blow cans off the unoccupied sections of the stands with his old pipe pistol. “I want you to take over the agency if somehow...if I…”

“Don’t say that, Nick,” Ellie pleads. “I know it may happen, but I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s always going to be the Valentine detective agency, not the Perkins. Even if I take over the place from you.” 

If Nick was human, he would blush. He tugs his hat down. “Ellie.” 

“Yes?”

“You know, I think you’re the only partner in the agency I’ve ever really liked.” 

Yes, Nick has worked on and off with a few people over the years, and he considers them hardly of note. Most of them don’t have the moral code Nick prides himself on, and most of them rub him the wrong way. Ellie’s stuck around to help the agency the longest. She’s his favorite. 

“That’s good,” Ellie says, clearly flattered. “Because I kinda like you too, Nick. I’d be disappointed if after all this time and care you thought I was chopped liver.” 

Nick laughs. “No, Ellie, I don’t think you’re chopped liver. You may as well be my daughter.”


	23. Constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The solar system of people orbiting Nick Valentine start to interact and blend together in new ways that elevate all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to sound like a classic fic writer, but... _I can explain._
> 
> Jokes aside, though Challengers is pre-written, I've been struggling with my mental health and feeling any sort of writing self-efficacy. I only came back around to picking up posting this fic because i read back through it in my documents and...I couldn't believe I wrote it. I'm working on a real novel right now (you know, not an extended fanfic to test my abilities) and it struck me that this fic, even though I really self-examine harshly over it, helped me to get better at long-form planning and plotting, and without having written Challengers I wouldn't be in a place to write the actual-book I'm drafting right now. 
> 
> So give it up for the last few chapters of Challengers- a fic that made me grow. 
> 
> _Zeroes and ones, patterns appear,_   
>  _They'll prove to all that we were here._
> 
> \--Death Cab for Cutie, Binary Sea

There’s a knock on the door of the agency early in the morning. 

“Letter for you an’ Ellie, Mr Valentine,” a courier says. Nick accepts the papers handed to him.

“Where from?” 

“Far Harbor. Have a good day, sir.” 

The courier leaves, and Nick looks down at the letters. On top is one addressed to him. 

_ Nick, _

_ Faraday and I were wondering about your condition after you left. We know you have people who love you and care for you as much as we do- or, more accurately, I do. But factually, Faraday and I have likely spent longer examining the prototype form we share.  _

_ So contained for a trusted loved one of your choice- or multiple- is our compiled research on how our body works. We hope it serves you well, and hope it brings you some peace.  _

_ Send our love to Hancock, and Ellie as well, though we have not properly been introduced.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ DiMA _

Nick hefts the notebook in his hand. It’s worn and has some dried-up water stains, probably from the boat trip and the fog that plagues the Island. He opens it, and sees intricately drawn diagrams and notes dated back years. Notes labelled at least 30 years ago. Either this is their original notes, or they painstakingly copied them. 

A note from Faraday is scrawled in the cover of the journal. 

_ Most repairs can be completed with basic tools. Screwdriver and wrench essential- buy from harbor? _

It’s morning anyhow. Nick places the journal on his desk. 

“Ellie?” 

Ellie stirs upstairs, and replies, a bit of sleep still in her voice. “Hang on, Nick!” 

She runs downstairs as best she can, still in the dirty old t-shirt and radstag pants that serve as her night clothes. 

“No emergency, don’t worry about it. But I got some reading in the mail you might want to take a look at.”

“Oh?” 

“Notes from Far Harbor. It’s self explanatory. I think you should be one of the people to take a look at it.”

Ellie follows Nick’s eyes to the notebook on his desk. She picks it up, and scans some of the pages. 

“I...oh, Nick…”

“Only a few people I’d trust to try to interpret this, Ellie. You’re a smart kid. You’ve proven how much being here means to you. Like I said last week, you’re...the daughter I never really had.”

“What about John? And Dr. Amari?”

“They’ll get their turns to figure it out. But you have a right to it too. I’ll even hand you the screwdriver.” 

Ellie sets the notebook down again and hugs Nick tightly. She’s shorter than him, she has to stand on the balls of her feet to do it, but it’s tight and loving and genuine. 

Nick settles his synthetic hands on her back. 

“Thank you, Nick. Thank you.” 

“Elena Felicity Perkins, you belong here.”

\--

Ellie spends the rest of the week noting everything down for herself in her own notebook. She keeps it in the top right door of her desk, locked with a key she always keeps to herself. 

Once she’s done, she returns it to Nick, and offers to try and fix his bad hand. There’s no replacing the polymer skin substitute, but Nick has never properly known how to tune up the joints. He lets Ellie have at it while he takes a smoke, and she makes his joints feel smoother than they have in years. 

Ellie beams, of course, when he tells her as much. 

“Well, then I think I have it nailed down. You should take that little black book over to John, I expect. He’s going to wanna tear through it himself.” 

“Thanks, Ellie. You know the drill. Take some you time, have an early dinner if you want.”

“Have fun, Nick!” 

Nick puts the journal in his jacket, and steps out the front door. 

In Goodneighbor, Nick enters the state house and walks upstairs. Fahrenheit is sitting on the couch and their radio is blaring Diamond City’s station. Hancock grins a grin that means he’s probably had some sort of artificial mood lifter, Nick guesses day tripper since he can’t see any jet. 

“Nicky!” 

Nick sighs, tired but affectionate. “John.” 

“Come here,” John says, taking Nick’s bad hand. 

_ I don’t want to set the world on fire  _

_ I just want to start _

_ A flame in your heart _

“You really can’t slow dance. Or is that the chems talking?”

John grins. “Daytripper, baby. Some scavvers passing through dug some up. No reason to let it go to waste.”

“Why am I not surprised.” 

Hancock starts to sing along- badly, since he’s not sober and not putting much effort in.

“ _I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim,_

_I just want to be the one you loooove_.” 

“John…”

“ _And with your admission that you feel the saaame,_

_ I have reached the goal I’m dreaming of be-lieve me,  _

_I don’t want to set the world, on, fiiire...I just want to staart… a flame in your heaaart._ ” 

“I think the non urgent news I brought you should wait ‘til you’re sober.”

“Hope there’s no urgent news to go along with that.” 

“Nope.”

“Good, because I need to figure out how to slow dance.”

Nick wakes from a low-level diagnostic- his equivalent of a nap- later. The sun has gone down, far past the horizon, and their room is lit by candles and old-fashioned oil lamps. Hancock has a candle at his desk, poring over the notebook Nick brought. 

There’s a tin of mentats half-open next to him, spilling across the desk. Hancock picks one up and chews it slowly, scanning the page. 

Nick knows that though he didn’t have an emotional talk about what this means to him like he did with Ellie, Hancock is well aware of what this means to them both.

He sighs and lies back down, and watches for a while as Hancock enjoys his mentats and reading. 

It’s something to appreciate. 

\--

“Hey. Nicky?” 

Nick places one hand on their mattress to roll over. “Yeah, doll?” 

“You think if I tried I could get up to the stands to see Pat?” 

“Not unless I went with you.” 

“Probably not worth it. If he didn’t see reason before, I doubt he would now.” 

“Do you think the rumors are true? The ones Piper writes?” 

“I think about that every day, sunshine. I’d understand if it was, but really...no conspiracy required. Sometimes people are just bad.” 

“The question is if your brother is one of them.” 

“I don’t think anyone can answer that, Nicky.”

They’re both quiet for a while, and then Nick watches Hancock from the corner of his eye. “There’s something else I’m curious about now, doll.”

“Yeah? Whassat?” 

“That rare chem that turned you ghoul. Did you know what it would do?” 

“Nope,” Hancock says, popping the p. “But I didn’t care.”

“...would you care now?” Nick asks, understanding that that time was dark, for both of them, that he can’t blame Hancock for feeling so lost, so hopeless, that anything was better. 

“More than anything.”

Nick squeezes his partner’s hand. 

He needed to hear that. 

\--

In the morning, when Nick goes out on the balcony for a smoke, Nora Fox is standing at the bottom in a leather jacket and jeans, hands shoved into her jacket’s pockets.

“Hey, stranger,” Nora calls up. 

“What fishy business are you getting your hands into now?” 

“No faith in me?” Nora jokes. “I know we haven’t spent that much time together, but y’know, I thought you’d know better.” 

“Know better? Please. You sound like you’re up to business.” 

Nora laughs at that. “Ah, you got me there. I’ve been putting my hands in more ex-paladin therapy. That explain it?” 

“So what brings you out here?” Nick asks, leaning on the railing. Nora shrugs. 

“This and that. Trying to bring him into contact with more good synths, really. Running with some...people, who though wary of his credentials, want to help him. And to be honest, they’re much more my speed.” 

Nick has an idea what she’s implying. Hancock lets forces like the railroad run wild in his town. He has from the start, and Nick thinks it has to do with Hancock’s feelings towards him. But he can’t blame the ghoul for that, after all, knowing someone makes things clearer. He’s said that before. 

“Well alright. Those are friends I can approve of. They ask about me down you-know-where?”

“Think you’re too old for it to matter,” Nora replies, face darkening. “Shouldn’t talk about it out here. But I think we’re doing better.” 

“We?” 

“We’ve renegotiated our relationship,” Nora says slyly. “Into something he more deserves, I think.” 

“I have no idea what you see in the guy,” Nick jokes. “But you do you, kid. I think you can make the right choices.” 

“Guess my unofficial job is rehabbing soldiers into being able to think critically. Now, I gotta buy stims off of Daisy, we’re heading out into the wastes today to do some errands for those people I mentioned.”

“Have fun out there, kid. Glad you’ve warmed up to this place. A lot better than I would’ve thought.” 

Nora gives him a two finger salute, trotting off towards the general store. 

Nick looks up at the morning sky, smoke trailing from his cigarette. 

Sometimes the Commonwealth seems like a hellscape, and sometimes it seems like a chunk of ore- a rock run through with cracks and pockets of hope and light. And those spots can be people, places, acts you watch and observe and appreciate.

Goodneighbor’s one of them. A place where things feel better That’s what Hancock made of it. 

Nick codes a mental note to tell John he’s proud. 

He taps his cigarette gently on the peeling white paint of the state house’s banister. He’s appreciative of the life he has now. 

“Nicky,” Hancock groans from the bed. “You know you can smoke inside now, right?”

“Yeah, doll. Just wanted a look at the sky.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a final announcement, yes, I'm going to try and stretch my writing skills into more pieces in the challengers universe. Every time I revisit this fic I realize how fun Nora is. So I'm going to dive in-depth, in a future short collection, on other characters who only got cameos (like Preston, Danse, the upcoming appearance from [REDACTED], and maybe Nora meeting some of the other companions), elements of the universe I didn't dive into here in Challengers, et cetera, whatever strikes my fancy. I do take requests on my tumblr (still maggie-wittington), and if anyone charitably asks me for one of those, it'll go in there too. Anything goes! And yes, I hope that got the song stuck in your head. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with Challengers despite the unplanned massive hiatus. If you've come this far it already means a great deal to me. Cheers, dear readers, and may you enjoy my future stories of the Commonwealth!


	24. Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora delivers a message to the surface, then disappears. Everyone has to cope with the contents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, there's some...well, there's some canon-typical violence in this one. Hancock's got a shotgun and he's not afraid to use it. 
> 
> Happy labor day, I guess? I still have all the chapters of this fic written up and stuff, it's just that these last few don't feel as good as they could be, like I was shoving in filler far too late speculating about interactions we didn't get in canon. I look back it and I'm irritated with myself for not planning ahead better. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy anyway. 
> 
> _No words you say tonight_   
>  _Can make this be alright_   
>  _I'll help you **follow through**_   
>  _Remember this? **Pacta sunt servanda!**_
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, Don't say a Word

“Hey, Nick.”

Nick looks up from the book he’s enjoying to see Nora Fox holding out a holotape. She looks tired, upset, hollow. Nick wants to ask what’s wrong, but she talks first. 

“Take it, okay? There’s some things on there you need to see.” 

“Nora, are you-”

“I’m fine. Just- I have to go. Take the tape. Listen. It’s important.”

Nick takes it from her, and Nora Fox slips out the door. 

Nick examines the tape. Unmarked, looks oddly new, like it’s not two hundred years old and overwritten repeatedly like most holotapes he runs across. It’s new. Ellie pauses on the stairs, holding a note Nick asked her to bring down when she had a moment. She sniffs the air. 

“What’re you smelling?” Nick asks. His senses are a little shot. 

“Antiseptic,” Ellie says. “Not something you smell often. Was someone here?” 

“Nora. She left a note.” 

“Huh. I don’t think I need to tell you it sounds like something’s wrong with her.” 

Nick hums. “Definitely not. Dunno if she’s pulling me into something or just warning me. Better watch your back, Ellie.”

“I never stopped.” 

Nick then decides to take a look at the holotape proper.

_ Item 3: Hancock _

Oh no. 

\-- 

Nick doesn’t tell Ellie what he’s seen, just moves at a brisk walk, trying to act like he hasn’t just been handed the most explosive set of secrets in the Commonwealth. 

Publick Occurrences is at the entrance of Diamond City- the perfect spot for Nat Wright to hand out her sister’s amateur newsprints. 

“Hey, Mr. Valentine! Read all about it! The Minutemen are back and we got an exclusive!”

Nick almost brushes her off, then remembers himself and takes one copy in his bad hand. “Thank you, Nat. I need to speak to Piper.” 

“She’s inside. Typing the next issue.” 

Nat returns to her sales, and Nick takes that as permission to enter. 

“Piper?” 

“Wha?” Diamond City’s journalist pulls herself up from the printing press they’ve rigged to run. “Well, well. Nick Valentine.”

“Piper Wright.” Nick sighs. “Do you remember when McDonough asked me to gently persuade you to stop badgering him about that courier who goes in and out weekly?” 

“Yes. I still can’t believe you just listened to him. Why?” 

Nick almost glances behind himself, but he hands Piper the holotape. 

“Look. I didn’t argue then because, if we’re being honest, my position isn’t set and I don’t know how I feel about tossing it out. I wasn’t even there to get involved. But there’s something you need to see and it’s on this tape.” 

Piper locates her holotape player and listens thoughtfully. “This is-- is this Nora’s voice? Our blue?” 

“The very same. She appears to be reading off a paper. She gave me this copy and left like a yao guai was on her tail.” 

“Ho-ly shit.” Piper whistles. “And you brought it to me? If I were you and I heard something like this I’d be halfway to Goodneighbor to-” 

“Don’t finish that sentence with whatever sort of horrors you think I’d need to prevent. I don’t want to think about it, and Hancock can protect himself. I brought it to you because...you need the vindication of knowing you’re right.”

“If Blue stole this, Nick, I dunno if I can even print it. That’s gonna- I’m gonna wanna tell  _ everyone. _ ”

“It could put Nora in danger if you print this, Piper. Don’t consider it lightly.” 

“Hey! I wouldn’t! I’m curious, not irresponsible!” 

“I think Nora’s mixed up in something deep and dark, even within the Institute,” Nick muses. “I’m going to deliver her warning to, I think, its intended recipient. Keep searching, Piper. You’re on the right track. Next time, I won’t stop you.” 

\--

Hancock doesn’t speak for thirty long minutes- Nick’s internal chronometer counts them with near perfection. At twenty-five minutes, he takes a hit of jet. At thirty minutes, with a margin of error of thirty seconds, he speaks. 

“I should have known he would.” Nick says nothing, allowing Hancock to continue. “Damn him. His obsession with power has put my people at risk.”

“Put you at risk,” Nick murmurs. That’s truly what offends him, really.

“No, Nicky, Goodneighbor matters more. I spent every minute trying to make things better here and they think they can just put it at risk?” 

“We don’t know if they’ll act on it. Most of the report is just speculation.”

“Why would Nora give it to you if she didn’t take it seriously?” 

Nick’s at a loss. “I don’t know, John. My instincts say it’s not a warning of an attack.” 

“They had better not,” Hancock growls. “If the Institute even sets foot in Goodneighbor, I’ll do them in myself.” 

Nick pauses. “John? Your terminal?” 

“Go ahead,” Hancock says with a scowl, taking another hit of jet. Nick puts the holotape in, examining. 

_ Informants _

_ A.J  _

_ Occupation: chem dealer _

_ Location: Goodneighbor _

_ Marowski _

_ Occupation: chem supplier _

_ Location: Goodneighbor _

_ Nick- I found this list on an institute terminal re: people who have talked before to help them “recover” synths. Hancock needs to be aware of McDonough’s nerves about him, but this is the most important note I could tag on. I haven’t contacted the railroad yet but I’m sure they run through Goodneighbor. Don’t let the Institute have a foothold in your safe place. Don’t lose what you have. I’m sure we’ve had enough loss in our lives. - N _

Nick scowls darkly.

“John. It wasn’t just a warning.” 

“Hunh?” 

“Come look.”

Hancock moves over, looking over Nick’s shoulder. “Godfuckingdammit, I’m going to- I’ll do it to them myself, Nick-”

“John-”

Hancock is already pacing down the hall, and he barks an order to the nearest neighborhood watch guard. “Get me AJ and Marowski. Now! Get them out in front of the balcony, and make sure everyone sees! And make sure they can’t run. I don’t care how, and in ten minutes they aren’t gonna care anymore.”

Nick isn’t sure if this is ideal at all, but...truthfully, Hancock in his capacity as mayor has always used execution to prove a point. It’s a card he only pulls when he feels someone’s crossed him personally. Violated the code of Goodneighbor right to his face. Thumbed their nose at his few, few rules. And Hancock has made no secret that the Institute isn’t welcome in Goodneighbor. 

Nick meets Hancock in the hall, where he’s fumbling with the shells in his double-barrel shotgun. Nick puts his metal hand on Hancock’s as shells fall to the floor. 

“John. Are you alright?”

“No, Nicky, I just found out that people I let into my home are putting the lives of everyone I care about at risk. And would probably do it again for enough caps.” 

“I doubt the Institute is going to go out of their way to pick me up again, doll.”

“I really disagree with that assessment but that’s not- argh, that’s not the point, Nicky. It’s not just you. If the Institute marched on Goodneighbor, Farrah would be at the front line. And if they did it on McDonough’s orders, it’d be a hit on me. I don’t tolerate that kinda shit. And I ask for so fucking little, just ‘don’t deal with the Institute’ and what do some of the snakes in my home do, they go ahead and sell out their fellow man. No, Nicky, it’s not about you. But it’s about everyone like you. If a synth comes to Goodneighbor lookin’ to get away from the Institute, I’ll open the damn door. They need it. The rules here are simple, and they broke the ones nearest to my heart. Don’t deal with the Institute, and stick together. I’m not going to let them live as holes in my security.” 

“Boss,” Fahrenheit interrupts from the balcony, fortunately not commenting on the fact that Nick’s hand is still on Hancock’s. “We got a crowd. And the guys got AJ and Marowski like you wanted. What’s going on?” 

Hancock picks up what shells he can manage, and moves away from Nick until he’s standing across from Fahrenheit. 

“Found out they’re moles for the Institute,” he murmurs quietly. “Can’t stand, Fahr.” 

Fahrenheit looks troubled. “Boss, you’re high.”

“As if I wasn’t a little blitzed when Nicky came home and I had to do in Finn. You wanna do business here, live here, you don’t deal with the bad guys.” 

“...I can’t argue with that,” Fahrenheit says. “Go on out, boss.”

Hancock steps out onto the balcony. 

“Do you two know what the one fucking rule everyone needs to follow in Goodneighbor is?”

“Don’t fuck with Hancock?” a drifter supplies. 

“Close. It’s dangerous to test the waters. Anyone else?”

“Stick together?”

“Warmer.”

It’s one of the watch who speaks up. “Fuck the Institute?” 

Hancock snaps his fingers and points. “You. Chem of choice. My place. After this. Yeah, that’s right, we don’t like the Institute here. Synths ain’t all bad, mind you-” 

“Of course you’d say that,” AJ grumbles, and one of the watch hits him with the butt of their rifle. Hancock makes a note to give the watch a raise. They’re really going above and beyond today. 

“Synths. Ain’t. Defined. By. Their. Origin. Just like any man, woman or ghoul here in this little town. If they come here lookin’a change we let them. Just don’t work with the Institute. I’m betting the smart among you can guess what these two morons did to warrant being out here right now.” 

Hancock rests his gun on the railing. “So because the one rule I ain’t gonna let any of you break’s been broken, I think you all know how this ends.” 

Hancock could easily hit a headshot from here with the shotgun. Easily. But he despises those who sell their souls to the Institute, and he hates, hates, to think of synths who like his lover and his lover’s brother escaped scientific torture and slavery to try and find a life that means something being ratted out by the cowards in front of him and being brought back to the Institute. Perhaps executed, perhaps worse. They deserved better. They deserved to live free too. 

Hancock aims his shotgun and discharges two shots into Marowski’s chest. He reloads with some of the shells he picked up earlier, before doing the same to AJ. The neighborhood watches in silence as they bleed out, slowly. 

“You ain’t in trouble unless you work with the Institute. These two sold out synths who came here lookin’a live free like the rest of us. Try’na get away. What kind of coward does that, huh? You don’t stop another man from escaping the bad. That’s how we all got here. Don’t forget that, don’t be like them, and we ain’t gonna have this conversation ever again.”

Hancock spins on his heel, walks inside, and waits as Nick sits down on one of the couches. 

Hancock lays on Nick, feeling the hum of his lover’s fans, and feeling hollow. 

Hancock doesn’t speak for three hours. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered what would happen if you could show Hancock that particular tape. Obviously, Nora hasn't completed Diamond City Blues or the Silver Shroud line. Given his attitude about the Institute, I don't think he'd enjoy finding out that people he let into his circles were working with the enemy. And we all know he's not above public executions for rulebreakers. 
> 
> Anyway, let's keep pretending I post on time.


	25. Rail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on, a weird little family trip gets planned, and the author adds more cameos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! So, long story... (update on my day at the end, that is.) 
> 
> _Read a letter from my future self_   
>  _Do not sell what is not yours to sell anyway_   
>  _I hope you leave behind a better place_   
>  _Write the runes on the face of the moon, lest we forget._
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, Storm the Armada

“Nick.”

“Hm?” 

“Are you upset?” 

“No, doll. You dealt with a betrayal of your trust. You were right that it had to be confronted at some point or another.”

“I couldn’t save them. I...failed.”

“The synths?” 

“Yeah. If I had known, if I had taken a stronger stance, maybe-”

“Hey, hey now. No coulda woulda shouldas, doll. You can’t fix it. You don’t even know what they did, only that they informed. They could’ve escaped anyhow.” 

“I hope so. I think about what things were like for you then,” Hancock says softly, rolling onto his back. His hat falls to the ground, but he remains in Nick’s lap. “When you came out of there. Scared and alone and with all your pre-war memories...I know you’re the only one they put pre-war stuff into, but that don’t mean anyone else getting out of there isn’t scared too. I make my policies here in town so people can be free. Is that too much to damn ask?”

“It’s not.” 

“I don’t like having to put any of em down, you know. Raiders is one thing, but…” 

“You take in these people, live down to earth, and get to know them. But the world we live in demands a few things, John.” Nick shifts enough to get out a cigarette. “You’re mayor. You have to put the needs of the town over those of one or two citizens.” 

“Damn it, you’re right, Nicky. Stop being so smart.” Hancock weakly smacks Nick’s wrists. Nick’s mouth twitches at the contact. 

“Sorry, doll, that one’s two hundred some years old. Can’t have it removed, unfortunately.” 

“I like you too much for that.” 

Nick snorts, and takes a drag of his cigarette. 

There’s a knock on the door. Hancock grabs his hat off the floor and starts to sit up before there’s a call from outside. 

“Me, boss.”

“Farrah,” Hancock sighs, lying back down and putting his hat on his chest. “C’mon in, we’re not fucking.” 

Fahrenheit opens the door. “Town’s settled down. We’ve got someone more trustworthy taking over the business at the Rexford, and AJ wasn’t really liked anyway.”

“I thought someone else would get to him before I had to, honestly.”

“Yeah. So did I.”

Fahrenheit pauses. She tilts her head slightly at Hancock. “We’ve been seeding the tip you got so people get why it happened. They’re sympathetic to you, John. They still love you. In fact, they probably love you more for showing your low tolerance for the Institute isn’t just talk.”

“Really?” 

“Wasteland politics,” Nick comments offhand, before returning to his cigarette.

“Fuck. You’re sure?” 

“Pretty damn sure. We don’t just ask them, John, we listen around too. You’re not turning into an autocrat. If you were I’d be in here with a gun, not my words.”

“You had better, Farrah. Bodyguard is just a word. You’re going to take me down if I go too far.”

“I know, genius. Oh, and one more thing. We got a visitor. I’ve made sure we’re not going to be disturbed.”

“Shit, really? Right now?” 

“It’s serious, John.” Fahrenheit flicks her eyes to the door. “It’s about your little display out there, yes, but from some people who want to congratulate you.”

“Ugh. Send em in.” 

Hancock sits up. “Who d’you think?” 

Nick shrugs, putting his cigarette to his lips in thought. “Brotherhood wouldn’t come all this way just to say thanks for offing some small timers. Let alone to thank you.” 

Hancock barks out a laugh. “Danse isn’t even Brotherhood anymore and the first time he calls me by my name or says thank you I’m getting it on holotape. No, not the brotherhood.” 

Fahrenheit opens the door and talks to the person outside. “You’re in luck. We’re feeling chatty.”

“Oh, that’s great.” A man in sunglasses strolls in confidently, and Hancock tilts his head. Nick squints a little, cigarette forgotten in his metal fingers. “Listen, mayor- and company. Can we shut the door?” 

Fahrenheit shuts the door with a glare. She then leans against it. “Talk fast.”

“Right, right. We’ve had a bit of contact with you over the years and we know you tend to leave us alone.” 

“Depends who ‘us’ is,” Hancock asks, voice forcedly casual. 

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” the stranger jokes. “Just kidding, just kidding. We’re the railroad, of course. We work pretty hard at what we do, and it’s very nice to have a major settlement conveniently allied with our interests.”

“Thought you guys were an urban legend.” 

“Awh, c’mon, I know you keep pretty close tabs on the place. You had an idea synths pass through here, for sure.”

“If they do, it ain’t my business unless they’re working for the big bad.” 

“The point is, they sent me up here to thank you for taking out informers round here. Makes our job a bit easier. How did you know what they were up to?” 

“Ah, so that’s what you really want,” Nick muses. “The informant list.” 

“Ideally.” 

“Well, we’re no friends of the Institute, but we only received a scrap of it. With the names in Goodneighbor specifically.”

Hancock nods agreement. “Nicky’s right.”

“Where’d you get that from, then.” 

“A hired gun acquaintance who’s in the wind at the moment. If we see her again we’ll find out if she has the rest for you all. I assume you’d put out hits on the names.” 

“For the most part. Though we might try to see what they know first. Who knows?” the stranger shrugs. 

Hancock sighs. “You can keep telling your little friends Goodneighbor is safe. As long as they stay on my good side. Like anyone else.” 

“Much obliged.” 

“Wait,” Nick interrupts as the stranger turns to leave. 

“Yeah?” 

“What does the Railroad do with the synths?” 

“Doctor Amari removes their memories and helps them build up a new identity. Then they move somewhere else. Why?” 

“I have a different proposal for you.” 

Fahrenheit looks at Nick, continuing to block their visitor from the door. 

“Alright, I’m listening. What d’you have in mind?” 

“I know a place out of the Commonwealth that may do you nicely. Longer trip than this, but they don’t have to get the wipe if they don’t want to, and they’ll have a community.”

Hancock grins. “Oh, Nicky. I see what you’re getting at.” 

“You got some kind of synth heaven? Synth fantasy land?”

“Oh, yes, something like that. And I happen to know the guy in charge rather well. I think he’ll appreciate having synths sent there instead of wiped.”

“Okay, clearly this is an inside joke I’m not getting. But if you’re serious about the place-”

“Deadly.” 

“-I can poke around, see how receptive to that our current synths are. If some of them bite, I’ll find you again.” 

“I can’t wait,” Nick says dryly. 

“Fahr, lettem go.” 

Fahrenheit lets the stranger out. Hancock turns to Nick, swinging his legs into his boyfriend’s lap. “You think it’ll work?” 

“Swimmingly, doll. DiMA hates the idea of mind wipes anyway. He’s already seen too many.” Nick points to his own head. “Why not give that railroad an end of the line.” 

“Smart, sunshine. I guess we should be prepared to travel to Far Harbor sometime.” Hancock pauses. “Did you tell them that so you could visit DiMA more often?” 

“There are things you don’t need to know, John,” Nick replies with a veiled grin. Hancock laughs. 

“I can’t blame you. If Farrah came out adventuring with me, I dunno if I’d ever come home.” 

“Good to know you have a sense of priorities, John,” Fahrenheit comments dryly. 

“It’s a compliment! I’m saying you’re my sister and I love you!”

“Eugh, stop saying those words, it’s not like us.”

“Hah, I know that, but if you ignore the usual tactics, then I gotta be more obvious to ya. That’s what you get for playing dumb.” 

“You’re the worst. Why did I pick you up, you wouldn’t’ve lasted this long without me.”

“Ha. False. You know who I wouldn’t’ve lasted as long without?” Hancock grabs his boyfriend’s face. “Nicky. He’s the real MVP.” 

“Disgusting.”

Fahrenheit takes her leave, and Hancock picks up his inhaler of jet. “Someday we need a family vacation to Far Harbor. You know?” 

The comment takes Nick by surprise. “What do you mean?” 

“Farrah and Ellie don’t get out a lot. We should thank them for enabling our shit. People go to visit family, they did in the past, and they still do. And we’re basically family anyway, one big happy family. You, me, my baby sister, your surrogate daughter. It’s funky shaped, but you know, it works.” 

Nick’s chest cavity feels unnaturally warm. “I suppose so. Never thought of it that way is all.” 

“What, cause you were worried I was gonna drop off? Nicky, you know I’m in this until the end. We don’t needta get married for me to feel like the point of this is it lasts forever.” 

“Surprisingly mushy stuff coming from you.” 

“Only because I have you to myself right now, don’t get all used to it. Besides, I need more excuses to get you to visit your brother. He’s pretty neat.”

“Who’re you gonna leave in charge?” 

Hancock shrugs and takes a hit of jet. “Probably the guy who hit AJ with his gun.”

“Really, John?” 

“Yeah, really. Proves loyalty more than anything. He responded to an insult aimed at me- well, us- rather than physical resistance. Means he has a good idea of what I want.”

“What you want is a bit of a wild animal, doll.”

“Hey now. I can be mature. Did you say pre-war people sometimes kept like, lions and shit? Damn, a yao guai would look cool chained up in the state house.”

“And dangerous.”

“I never said I’d do it for real. Only a joke.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm updating for a futile mental escape from the confusing linguistics lecture I'm trapped in that's making my brain hurt. Fuck post-structuralism. 1 kudos = 1 rip 1 comment = breaking me out personally. 
> 
> Also, I took a look back, and Challengers is like, much longer than my actual novel that's getting edited. What the hell!? Someday I'll finish posting this.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is maggie-wittington, but I originally crosspost all links to writing-partners, the blog I share with the aforementioned Influence from PeacefulPhoenix. 
> 
> Feel free to drop me a line here or there, tell me how you liked it! I may not reply to them all, but I treasure them all, and that's for sure. 
> 
> Also on my main tumblr (again, maggie-wittington) is my request information and more on ways to support me and my future writing!


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